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John  Charaxes 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR 
IN  AMERICA. 


BY 


PETEK   BOYLSTON. 


PHIIiADELPHIA: 

J.   B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY. 

1889. 


Copyriglit,  1889,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company. 


PEEFATOET  NOTE. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR'S  LITERAEY  EXECUTOR. 


Peter  Botlston,  who  says  that  he  has  walked  the 
streets  of  Boston  for  more  than  sixty  years,  left  this 
book  to  be  published  by  his  literary  executor,  who 
gives  the  following  account  of  him. 

Greentown,  where  Peter  Boylston  says  he  was  born, 
is  an  imaginary  place,  of  course,  but  it  resembles  the 
birthplace  of  one  of  his  ancestors.  He  was  descended 
from  Thomas  Boylston,  an  early  English  settler  in 
Massachusetts,  of  whom  it  may  be  inferred,  from  old 
records,  that  he  was  a  gay  young  man  in  London,  and 
that  his  habits  were  not  formed  on  the  puritanical 
model.  We  read  that,  not  being  a  member  of  the 
Church,  he  was  never  admitted  a  freeman.  His  friends 
in  England  had  not  full  confidence  in  his  prudence  and 
discretion,  and  they  employed  an  agent  to  purchase  an 
estate  for  him  in  America.  In  1650  he  brought  a  suit 
against  one  Thomas  Pratt  for  withholding  money  sent 
him  by  his  uncle  in  England.  But  on  the  testimony 
of  John  Sawin,  who  swore  that  in  1648  the  uncle  told 
him  that  he  had  assigned  his  house  and  lands  in  New 
England  in  trust  for  young  Boylston,  the  latter  was 
non-suited.  This  roystering  Tom  Boylston,  said  not  to 
have  been  an  exemplar}^  husband  or  Christian,  had  a 
daughter  Sarah,  who  married  Captain  Thomas  Smith, 
a  butcher  of  Charlestown,  and  a  son  Thomas,  born 
January  26,  1644.  Thomas  became  a  "  chirurgeon"  of 
Muddy  River,  Brookline.  This  Dr.  Thomas  Boylston, 
of  Muddy  River,  had  twelve  children,  the  eldest  of 
whom  was  Edward,  a  tailor  in  Boston  -,  next  came 
Richard,  a  "  cordwainer"  of  Charlestown ;  then  Abigail, 
who  married  Ebenezer  Brooks,  of  Medford ;  and  fourth, 
Peter,  who  became  a  shopkeeper  in  Brookline.  The 
rest  of  them  need  not  be  enumerated;  they  are  all 

3 


4  PREFATORY  NOTE, 

gone  into  utter  darkness  long  ago.  But  Peter  Boylston, 
shopkeeper,  who  died  in  1743,  was  the  grandfather  of 
Peter  Boylston,  author  of  this  story. 

John  Boylston,  the  father  of  Peter  Boylston,  the 
author  of  this  tale,  died  young,  leaving  a  widow  and 
this  son  Peter,  the  only  child  they  ever  had.  Peter, 
the  author,  died  in  the  year  1881 ;  and  his  confidential 
friend  and  literary  executor,  who  has  edited  the  work, 
made  over  the  MSS.  to  the  present  publishers. 

Peter  Boylston  was  a  remarkable  man.  He  had  fine 
abilities  and  was  a  good  deal  of  a  scholar ;  but  in  the 
last  fifteen  or  twenty  years  of  his  life  he  lived  very 
much  in  the  past.  He  was  exceedingly  fond  of  talking 
of  certain  persons,  whom  he  said  he  had  known  before 
the  civil  war,  and  he  told  many  interesting  anecdotes 
about  them.  Whatever  they  were  to  others,  to  him 
they  were  all  so  many  real  persons ;  he  lived  so  con- 
stantly in  a  state  of  recollections,  or  seeming  recollec- 
tions, of  them, — he  talked  about  them  so  much  to  his 
wife,  who  was  ver}^  nearly  of  his  own  age,  and  who 
died  at  about  the  same  time, — that  one  could  not  ques- 
tion the  sincerity  of  his  belief  in  their  existence.  In 
fact,  the  writer  of  this  note  has  heard  him  describe 
these  persons  so  vividly,  and  has  so  often  heard  Mrs. 
Boylston  echo  and  confirm  what  her  husband  said,  that 
he  could  not  doubt  that  these  two  old  people  were  per- 
fectly convinced  they  were  speaking  of  persons  w^honi 
they  had  known  and  known  intimately.  When  the 
editor  came  to  examine  the  MSS.  he  was  persuaded  that 
he  ought  to  give  to  the  world  the  whole  story  just  as 
it  was  written,  and  as  one  of  which  it  can  be  said,  si  non 
e  vero,  e  ben  trovato.  For  himself,  he  feels  bound  to  ac- 
cept it  as  vero,  not  only  from  internal  evidence,  but  from 
having,  after  Mr.  Boylston's  death,  become  acquainted 
with  the  two  youngest  individuals  in  the  story,  although 
he  never  saw  any  of  the  others.  There  are  some  char- 
acters in  the  book  who  are  well  known  historically,  and 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  accurate  local  knowledge  in  re- 
gard to  the  places  where  the  scene  is  laid  and  the  per- 
sons who  flourished  there  at  the  times  referred  to. 

Boston,  February,  1889. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PJGB 

I. — A  New  England  Village 7 

II. — A  Rapid  Love-Affair 24 

III. — A  Sudden  Disaster 45 

TV. — A  Sudden  Marriage 64 

y. — A  Slave  Auction  and  tvhat  it  brought  .    .  72 

yi. — A  Stranger  lands  at  New  York 81 

yil. — Isabel  at  Gascoigne  House 100 

yill.— An  Early  Widow 121 

IX. — Will  she  marry  again  ? 138 

X. — Brief  but  Perfect 159 

XI. — An  Unexpected  Meeting 166 

XII. — A  Picnic  at  Saratoga  Lake 186 

XIII. — The  Story  of  John  Charaxes — A  Mother's 

Solicitude  for  an  Only  Son 195 

Xiy. — "  The  Course  of  True  Love  never  did  run 

Smooth" 215 

Xy. — Politics,  Literature,  War,  and  Love  .    .    .  221 

Xyi. — A  Perfectly  Rational  Female  Quixote    .  242 

Xyil. — The  Romance  may  or  may  not  come  ....  252 

Xyill. "  G-ATHERED,    NOT    HARSHLY    PLUCKED"   ....  263 

XIX. — Going  Home  at  the  End  of  Eorty  Years  .  278 

XX. — The  Last  Scene  of  All 282 


JOHN  OHARAXES: 

A  TALE  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  AMERICA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   NEW   ENGLAND   VILLAGE. 

It  is  uncertain  whether  this  book  will  have  a  hero 
and  a  heroine  or  neither.  This  will  be  left  to  be  deter- 
mined by  that  portion  of  the  public  who  may  patronize 
the  work,  whether  they  get  it  from  the  circulating  libra- 
ries or  are  led  to  purchase  it  outright  by  the  favorable 
notices  which  I  anticipate  for  it,  but  which  I  shall  take 
no  steps  to  secure.  The  newspaper  critics  are  now  the 
sole  autocrats  in  literature,  and  they  are  known  to  be 
beyond  the  blandishments  of  authors  and  publishers. 
As  this  is  my  first  and  only  production,  it  cannot  be 
heralded  as  a  new  story  by  So-and-so,  under  whose 
name  there  stands  in  his  or  her  publisher's  catalogue  a 
long  list  of  books  with  extraordinary  titles,  said  to  be 
filled  with  thrilling  scenes  and  the  most  wonderfully- 
drawn  characters.  A  new  magazine  was  started  re- 
cently, in  the  prospectus  of  which  it  was  announced 
that  contributions  would  be  accepted  on  their  merits 
and  not  on  the  celebrity  of  the  writers.  On  the  same 
principle  I  expect  this  book  to  make  its  way.  At  the 
same  time,  I  presume  that  my  name  will  very  soon  be 
placed  on  the  list  of  one  hundred  American  authors 
whom  everybody  ought  to  read. 

I  have  not  been  very  sohcitous  about  the  title  of  my 
work.  I  have  chosen  one  for  the  sake  of  brevity.  It 
will  do  as  well  as  another  for  the  purpose  of  identifica- 
tion.    I  have  had  no  trouble  in  regard  to  the  names  of 

7 


8  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

the  characters ;  for,  as  they  are  persons  whom  I  knew, 
I  have  not  had  the  embarrassment  which  Sir  Walter 
Scott  felt  when,  in  writing  one  of  his  immortal  fictions, 
he  repeated  Falstaff's  wish  expressed  to  Prince  Hal: 
"  Would  that  thou  and  I  knew  where  a  commodity  of 
good  names  could  be  had."  I  have  called  my  friends, 
with  whose  lives  this  story  is  concerned,  by  their  right 
names.  A  few  persons,  who  may  be  said  to  be  histori- 
cal, are  brought  upon  the  scene  by  the  names  which 
belong  to  them  ;  but  they  are  not  the  principal  person- 
ages in  the  dramatis  personce.  Such  of  them  as  are  not 
distinctly  named  the  reader  can  easily  recognize.  In 
other  cases,  I  give  express  notice  that  the  characters 
are  not  portraits.  If  any  one  undertakes  to  construct 
what  is  called  a  "  key"  to  the  characters  in  this  book, 
I  can  tell  him  beforehand  that  it  will  be  far  from  com- 
plete and  will  be  quite  inaccurate. 

And  now,  without  further  preface  or  introduction,  I 
will  let  my  pen  run  freely,  feeling  no  embarrassment  or 
restraint  of  any  kind. 

It  was  in  the  year  183-  that  a  young  lawyer  begar 
what  promised  to  be  a  brilliant  career  in  that  renowned 
New  England  city  which  before  and  since  that  time 
has  been  called  the  Athens  of  America, — for  what 
special  reason  I  never  knew.  I  knew  a  great  deal 
about  that  notable  town  and  its  people  in  the  period  at 
which  this  story  begins,  and  I  know  a  great  deal  about 
them  now,  for  I  have  walked  their  streets  for  more  than 
sixty  years.  I  am  not  about  to  suggest  anything  for 
or  against  the  claim  of  Boston's  resemblance  to  Athens. 
I  could,  if  I  were  so  inclined,  trace  some  parallel,  or 
show  that  there  is  none  at  all.  But  this  would  be  an 
unprofitable  digression,  because  my  readers  and  I  are 
more  concerned  with  the  local  peculiarities  which  have 
to  do  with  the  first  part  of  these  memoirs  than  they 
have  with  the  supposed  pre-eminence  of  the  chief  town 
in  I^ew  England  over  other  places  in  America.  At  all 
times  in  its  history  Boston  has  been  a  remarkable 
place:  at  the  time  when  these  memoirs  begin  it  was 
not  less  so,  but  it  was  then,  as  it  had  always  been,  a 
provincial  city ;  it  had  not  begun  to  wear  the  aspect 


A  NEW  ENGLAND   VILLAGE.  9 

of  a  metropolis,  as  it  does  now  to  some  extent,  in  rela- 
tion to  one  of  the  most  striking  and  energetic  commu- 
nities in  the  world,  the  New  England  States.  Our 
story  will  not  tarry  throughout  in  the  characteristic 
precincts  and  moral  and  intellectual  atmosphere  of  Bos- 
ton, for  "  westward  the  course  of  empire  takes  its  way." 
But  the  lives  of  two  of  the  persons  in  this  book  were 
powerfully  affected  by  what  occurred  to  them  in  that 
place  in  the  year  183-  when  it  seemed  for  a  short  time 
to  those  who  knew  them  that  their  destinies  were  in- 
dissolubly  interwoven  and  that  the  remorseless  scissors 
could  not  sever  such  ties. 

Henry  Brewster  was  the  only  son  of  a  Congrega- 
tional minister  in  a  country  town  about  twenty  miles 
from  Boston.  Dr.  Brewster — he  received  the  degree 
of  D.D.  from  his  alma  mater,  old  Harvard,  when  Henry 
was  ten  years  of  age — belonged  to  that  order  of  clergy- 
men who,  under  the  ecclesiastical  system  of  Massa- 
chusetts,— as  it  had  been  moulded  by  a  chief  justice  of 
her  highest  legal  tribunal,  verj^  much  according  to  his 
own  notions  of  the  statutes  and  the  customary  law,— 
held  their  positions  by  a  tenure  that,  with  other  special 
features,  made  the  system  bear  a  considerable  resem- 
blance to  an  established  church.  The  minister  was 
settled  for  life  by  a  contract  between  him  and  the  legal 
body  called  "the  parish,"  which  embraced  all  the  in- 
habitants of  the  township.  There  was  a  stipulated 
salary ;  there  was  generally  a  parsonage  and  some 
land,  usually  called  the  "  ministerial  lot,"  on  which  the 
minister  could  pasture  his  horse  and  cow,  or  he  could 
take  the  rents  and  profits  in  any  other  way.  If  the 
salary  was  small  it  was  sure,  for  there  was  a  tax  on 
property  for  the  support  of  public  worship,  and  there 
was  no  public  worship  but  that  in  the  parish  meeting- 
house until  schisms  and  divisions  came  in  later,  and 
Baptists,  Methodists,  and  such  like  began  to  go  off  from 
orthodoxy  and  to  hold  services  in  halls  or  to  build  meet- 
ing-houses of  their  own.  At  length  people  who  thus 
dissented  from  the  faith,  and  kept  away  from  the  meet- 
ing-place of  their  fathers,  grew  restive  under  a  tax  for 
the  support  of  a  public  worship  that  they  would  not 


10  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

attend ;  and  this  forced  an  alteration  of  the  State  Con- 
stitution in  1820,  and  an  establishment  of  the  religious 
bodies  on  a  basis  of  perfect  religious  freedom.  But 
until  this  change  took  place  the  old  ministers  remained 
in  their  respective  parishes,  with  all  their  legal  rights 
and  their  personal  dignit3^  And  when  the  change 
came  the  old  clergymen  remained  undisturbed  until 
they  died.  Even  when  the  Unitarian  schism  came 
about,  attended  by  a  strenuous  theology  controversy, 
the  congregations,  for  the  most  part,  waited  until  the 
death  of  the  old  minister  occurred  and  a  new  one  was 
settled  before  they  changed  their  religious  sentiments. 
In  his  own  parish  the  minister  was  called  ".the  Par- 
son," and  out  of  it  he  was  called  "  Parson  Brewster"  or 
"  Parson  Brooks,"  as  the  case  might  be.  He  dressed 
in  black,  with  a  white  neck-cloth,  knee-breeches,  black 
silk  or  worsted  stockings,  with  silver  or  plated  buckles 
in  his  shoes ;  but  although  he  sometimes  wore  a  queue, 
he  rarely  wore  hair-powder,  although  some  of  his  most 
dignified  and  wealthy  parishioners  did.  In  the  pulpit 
be  wore  the  black  Geneva  gown, — of  silk,  if  his  pa- 
rishioners could  afford  to  give  him  a  silk  one,  if  not,  it 
was  of  some  black  woollen  stuff, — and  over  thiS;  in  win- 
ter, was  used  a  long  dark-blue  cloth  cloak,  which  he 
sometimes  kept  on  during  the  service,  as  the  meeting- 
house was  but  feebly  warmed  by  its  iron  stoves,  not- 
Avithstanding  the  long  sticks  of  wood  which  the  sex- 
ton put  in  endwise  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning 
and  with  which  he  again  replenished  the  iron  box  just 
before  he  went  to  ring  "  the  first  bell."  We  used  to 
carry  foot-stoves  to  meeting,  consisting  of  a  square  tin 
box  with  small  round  holes  in  the  top,  surrounded  by 
a  skeleton  frame  of  wood.  In  these  little  portable 
stoves  we  brought  hot  ashes  and  live  coals  from  our 
kitchen  fires.  Our  mothers  and  grandmothers  carried 
in  their  big  fur  muffs — no  such  dainty  little  rolls  as  a 
modern  lady  wears  on  one  wrist,  but  a  muff  of  much  am- 
pler dimensions — a  hot  brick,. wrapped  in  brown  paper; 
and  when  the  little  hands  of  the  children  became  too 
numb  to  be  borne  without  cr3'ing,  these  bricks  were  a 
great  comfort  in  the  long  sermons.     But  it  was  in  sum- 


A  NEW  ENGLAND   VILLAGE.  H 

mer,  when  the  lower  sashes  of  the  windows,  with  their 
small  panes,  were  held  up  by  a  notched  wooden  button, 
and  the  stray  wasp  or  bumble-bee  came  humming  in 
out  of  the  sun,  and  the  music  of  the  hymn  floated  out 
and  away  almost  to  an  echo  from  the  hill  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  in  the  rear,  where  the  bobolink  was  warbling 
his  notes  "  in  liquid  sweetness  long  drawn  out,"  which 
mingled  with  the  voices  of  the  young  men  and  women 
in  "  the  singers'  seats,"  who  were  bawling  to  the  ac- 
companiment of  a  bass-viol,  a  clarionet,  or  a  flute, — it 
was  at  that  season  that  Sunday  morning  was  the  time 
for  tender  memories,  and  religious  thoughts,  and  en- 
joyments, that  we  never  had  on  other  days,  our  best 
clothes  forming  no  small  part  of  the  satisfaction.  The 
poorest  of  us  were  clean  and  decently  clad  on  that  day, 
whatever  might  have  been  the  garb  of  man  or  woman, 
boy  or  girl,  on  the  other  days  of  the  week.  Many  a 
young  maiden  wore  a  ribbon  reserved  for  this  meeting 
with  her  swain,  whose  new  straw  hat  was  sported  at 
no  other  time,  and  whose  well-brushed  coat,  although 
made  by  a  tailoress,  was  as  good  a  specimen  of  the  pre- 
vailing fashion  as  could  be  seen  in  our  village.  We 
young  people  used  to  come  upon  the  meeting-honse 
green — I  cannot  write  church — at  the  ringing  of  the 
first  bell,  curious  to  see  who  intended  marriage  and 
with  whom,  of  which  it  was  the  business  of  the  town 
clerk  to  inform  us.  This  custom  needs  some  explana- 
tion. The  law  required  the  "  banns"  to  be  published  by 
a  written  notice  posted  for  three  successive  Sundays  at 
the  meeting-house  door.     The  notice  read, — 

"  William  Livermore,  of ,  and  Hannah  Jerusha 

Aldrich,  of ,  intend  marriage. 

"  I S ,  Toion  Clerk." 

There  would  be  in  the  month  of  June  from  one  to 
five  of  these  notices  tacked  up  at  the  side  of  the  door 
which  led  up  the  broad  aisle.  The  announcement  was 
called  "  breaking  the  windows ;"  and  when  we  had 
learned  what  we  had  known  perfectly  well  for  two, 
three,  or  four  years,  according  as  William  and  Han- 
nah had  been  "  keeping  company"  for  one  or  the  othei* 


12  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

period,  and  had  seen  the  pair  walk  up  and  read  their 
own  notice  without  a  visible  sign  of  expectation  of 
what  windows  were  to  be  smashed  that  morning,  as  if 
the  town  clerk  had  taken  it  upon  him  to  do  the  break- 
ing of  his  own  motion, — you  may  depend  upon  it  he 
did  not  do  it  without  his  proper  fee  of  twenty-five 
cents, — we  strolled  off  into  the  graveyard  behind  the 
meeting-house. 

But  before  I  conduct  you  thither  I  must  tell  you 
about  the  courtships.  Thej^  began  often  in  youth,  and 
they  lasted  until  the  jDarties  were  able  to  marry.  Yery 
likely  the  old  parson  had  baptized  them  when  they 
were  babies,  had  taught  them  in  the  Sunday-school; 
and  by  whom  should  they  be  married,  if  not  by  him  ? 
Their  intercourse  had  been  perfectly  free  from  the 
time  when  they  were  children,  and  rarely  was  there 
any  unfortunate  result  of  this  freedom  between  the 
sexes.  By  the  time  they  were  married  they  knew  each 
other  as  they  needed  to  know,  and  the  love  that  thus 
grew  up  and  thus  lasted  was  a  love  that  would  stand 
every  trial.  There  were  no  divorces,  because  there 
was  no  hap-hazard  marrying,  as  there  is  now  among 
all  classes.  A  wedding  was  a  great  affair,  not  for  nu- 
merous and  costly  presents,  not  for  paragraphs  in 
newspapers  and  descriptions  of  the  bride's  dress  and  of 
what  this  bindesmaid  wore  and  what  another  wore,  not 
for  the  vulgar  publicity  that  is  now  given  to  that  event 
in  people's  lives  which  should  not  be  paraded  before 
the  public,  but  it  was  a  great  affair  to  the  simple  peo- 
ple of  a  simple  society.  The  marriage  took  place  in 
the  home  of  the  bride,  always  in  the  evening.  I  never 
saw  a  marriage  in  a  church  until  I  entered  what  is 
called  the  world.  There  was  no  wedding-tour  and  no 
heathenish  custom  of  flinging  rice  from  an  old  shoe  af- 
ter the  bride's  carriage.  She  did  not  leave  her  father's 
house  in  a  carriage  of  any  sort,  but  she  and  her  bride- 
groom walked  quietly  to  their  new  abode.  After  a  few 
days  there  were  two  gatherings  at  their  own  house, — 
one  of  their  married,  the  other  of  their  unmarried, 
friends.  At  these  parties  there  was  always  wedding- 
cake,  made  at  home,  but  as  well  frosted  as  if  it  came 


A  NEW  ENGLAND    VILLAGE.  13 

from  a  confectioner's  ;  there  were  different  games ;  but 
there  was  no  kissing  of  the  bride  by  anybody.  After 
these  two  receptions  were  over  the  pair  took  their 
places  among  the  married  folks,  and  perhaps  Hannah 
Jerusha  began  to  use  her  needle  on  certain  small  arti- 
cles that  might  be  wanted  by  a  little  stranger  by  and 
by.  Such  was  a  wedding  that  I  have  seen  many  and 
many  a  time  among  my  own  kindred ;  but  I  shall  never 
see  another,  as  there  are  a  great  many  other  things 
that  these  old  eyes  will  never  see  again.  Oh,  days  of 
innocence  and  peace,  where  are  you  ?  And  who  am  I, 
an  old  man  who  sits  here  scribbling  about  times  and 
persons  that  his  future  readers  will  perhaps  care  noth- 
ing about  ? 

But  let  us  go  into  the  graveyard.  There  we  roamed 
until  the  ringing  of  the  second  bell  was  ended  and  the 
first  strokes  of  the  succeeding  "  toll"  admonished  us  to 
be  in  our  pews, — there  we  roamed  in  the  sun  among  the 
graves,  some  of  which  were  more  than  a  century  old, 
wherein  "  the  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  slept," 
interspersed  among  which  were  the  fresh  mounds 
heaped  upon  the  last  resting-places  of  those  who  had 
been  buried  recently.  Sometimes  there  would  be  a 
broad  perpendicular  head-stone  of  heavy  blue  slate,  or 
a  massive  horizontal  slab  of  a  dark-brown  stone,  sup- 
ported on  low  pillars  of  the  same  material  firmly  set  in 
the  ground.  On  these,  respectivelj^,  was  inscribed  the 
name  of  "  Mehitable,  consort  of  Leonard  Bacon,  Esq.," 
or  '-wife"  of  the  more  humble  yeoman  who  had  never 
been  justice  of  the  peace,  captain  or  lieutenant  in  the 
artillery  company,  and  on  the  more  ambitious  monu- 
ment you  might  read  the  name  of  the  Esq.,  or  the  dea- 
con, or  the  militia  officer,  the  head  of  the  family  lying 
beneath,  and  the  names  of  the  children,  with  dates  of 
birth  and  death.  On  these  stones  there  were  rude 
sculptures  of  an  angel's  head  and  a  pair  of  wings  ;  and 
in  the  home  of  the  living  descendants  there  would  be  a 
facsimile  of  the  gravestone  worked  in  floss-silk  on  a 
piece  of  canvas,  with  the  figure  of  an  angel  under  a 
weeping-willow,  in  an  impossible  yellow  gown,  with 
large  white,  folded  wings  at  her  back,  and  leaning  with 

2 


14  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

an  uncovered  arm  on  the  monument,  while  her  blue 
eyes  looked  up  to  heaven.  This  heirloom,  framed  and 
glazed,  was  at  once  a  sacred  memento  of  the  dead  and 
a  cherished  proof  of  the  handiwork  of  Aunt  So-and-so, 
alongside  of  whose  "  sampler,"  worked  when  she  began 
this  art  in  her  school  days  with  the  letters  of  the 
alphabet  and  scraps  of  poetrj^,  this  monumental  por- 
traiture of  the  family  burial-place  hung  for  genera- 
tions, as  long  as  there  were  any  descendants  left  in  the 
old  homestead. 

There  were  also  many  tombs  in  our  graveyard,  and 
sometimes  one  of  these  would  be  standing  open,  to  re- 
ceive a  new-comer,  and  we  looked  in  with  awe  upon 
the  mouldering  old  wooden  coffins  piled  one  upon 
another,  and  on  the  brick  pavement  of  the  vault  we 
saw  the  little  boxes  in  which  the  infants  had  ended 
their  little  lives.  Over  the  arched  green  mound  that 
rose  above  these  receptacles  there  stood,  perhaps,  a 
white  marble  shaft,  which  informed  the  passers-by  that 

this  was  the  family  tomb  of ,  Esq.,  erected  by  him 

in  the  year  of  our  Lord,  17 — . 

If  in  all  this  there  was  a  great  deal  to  sadden  young 
hearts  and  plant  in  them  dark  thoughts  about  the 
mysteries  of  death,  there  was  some  salutary  influence 
upon  those  whose  natures  could  be  touched  to  the  finer 
issues.  There  was  rarely  any  levity  among  us  about 
such  things.  Endless  were  our  talks  about  the  dead 
whom  we  remembered  or  could  not  remember,  their 
intermarriages  and  their  descendants.  There  was  no 
scandal  to  be  rehearsed  about  any  of  them,  for 

"  Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way;" 

and  if  they  had  no  great  virtues  to  be  commemorated, 
they  had  committed  no  very  flagrant  sins  to  be  visited 
upon  their  children.  We.  did  not  plant  flowers  about 
the  graves,  nor  was  the  turf  remarkably  well  kept. 
There  were  some  lilac-bushes  and  a  few  wild  roses  along 
the  stone  wall  that  separated  the  graveyard  from  the 
hay-field  on  the  side  towards  the  hill;  and  although 
"  that  yew-tree's  shade"  was  not  there,  or  any  "  bab- 


A  NEW  ENGLAND   VILLAGE.  15 

bling  brook,"  a  gigantic  elm  that  stood  in  one  corner 
spread  its  branches  far  and  wide.  The  wild  bees  sucked 
the  red  and  white  clover-blossoms  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall,  and  in  the  hottest  part  of  the  summer  there 
might  be  a  hornet's  nest  in  a  break  in  the  wall,  of 
which  we  were  wary  enough,  as  your  hornet,  when 
be  goes  for  you,  comes  at  your  head  straight  as  a  bul- 
let. I  have  already  put  the  bobolink  on  one  of  the 
bushes,  with  his  capacious  throat  and  his  black  and 
red  plumage.  But  he  did  not  have  the  landscape  to 
himself.  The  blackbird  was  there,  and  the  robin, 
various  other  families  of  the  thrush  tribe,  the  yellow- 
bird,  who  is  or  was  the  New  England  canary,  and 
that  marvellous  "  fire-hang-bird"  ("  fiery-hanging-bird" 
shortened)  in  his  scarlet  and  gold  uniform,  who  hung 
bis  nest  on  the  lowest  end  of  a  pending  bough,  high 
up  in  the  air,  where  it  swung  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze. 
Him  we  never  shot,  from  some  superstition  that  ill 
luck  would  befall  any  one  who  killed  him.  All  of  the 
feathered  songsters  were  safe,  of  course,  from  "the 
fowler's  eye"  on  the  day  of  rest,  and  even  on  other 
days  we  pursued  none  of  them  that  I  have  mentioned 
excepting  the  robins;  but  these  we  peppered  as  soon 
as  the  Fourth  of  July  released  us  from  the  penalty  of  a 
statute  that  protected  the  young  birds  until  they  were 
grown.  We  made  it  a  point  to  have  a  pot-pie  on  the 
Fourth,  even  if  the  traditional  four-and-twenty  black- 
birds had  not  been  bagged,  for  the  robins  were  better, 
and  we  did  not  care  to  have  our  pie  baked,  although 
the  blackbirds,  according  to  the  nursery  canon,  ought  to 
be.  I  will  mention  but  one  other  variety  of  the  feath- 
ered tribes, — the  wild  pigeon.  A  dozen  or  so  of  these, 
in  their  dark-blue  coats,  would  sometimes  swoop  down 
among  the  tops  of  the  elms,  and,  if  it  happened  to  be 
a  week-day,  you  may  be  sure  that  some  of  them 
dropped.  If  I  chose  to  go  on  through  the  swallows 
and  the  martens, — for  the  latter  we  always  provided  a 
box  on  a  high  pole  in  our  yards,  that  was  an  exact 
model  of  the  meeting-house,  with  spire  and  belfry  and 
every  door  and  window  represented, — if,  I  say,  I  were 
to  complete  the  catalogue  of  our  birds,  I  could  make 


16  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

as  good  a  list  as  charmiDg  old  TThite,  of  Selborne,  has 
given  us  of  the  birds  of  his  neighborhood.  But  I  have 
other  things  to  do ;  and  before  we  go  into  meeting 
I  will  say  that  when,  in  after-years,  I  saw  an  English 
country  church-yard, — and  I  visited  one  in  Warwick- 
shire where  my  own  yeoman  ancestors  lie,  and  which 
was  said  to  be  just  like  Gray's  Stoke-Pogis, — I  had 
long  before  learned,  to  feel  the  beauty  and  pathos  of 
the  Elegy.  It  was  in  the  reading-book  in  our  public 
schools,  as  was  a  great  deal  else  from  the  '•  wells  of 
English  pure  and  undefiled ;"  for  American  literature 
had  not  then  furnished  substitutes  for  the  prose  and 
poetry  of  Old  England, — has  it  yet  furnished  good 
ones  ?  I  must  say  that  I  would  no  more  put  into  the 
hands  of  a  child  any  specimens  of  our  own  literature, 
and  expect  him  or  her  to  acquire  a  good  English  style 
without  studying  the  masters  of  the  language  who 
preceded  us  all,  than  I  would  let  the  pupil  derive  his 
intellectual  nourishment  solely  from  British  writers  of 
the  present  day. 

But  here  I  am,  off  in  another  digression,  and  my 
readers  are  not  yet  inside  the  house  of  worship,  the 
regular,  typical  Xew  England  meeting-house  in  a  rural 
parish,  of  which  I  know  not  if  there  is  extant  a  single 
perfect  specimen.  The  Old  South  in  Boston,  although 
in  somewhat  the  same  8t3'le, — style  ?  I  hear  you  ask, 
contemptuously, — is  so  surrounded  with  other  buildings 
and  encroached  upon  by  streets,  that  it  will  not  help 
you  to  see  our  meeting-house,  on  its  wide  green  at  one 
end  of  the  village,  and  no  other  structure  very  near  it 
but  the  long  wooden  shed  under  which  we  put  our 
horses  and  vehicles,  and  the  gun-house  farther  off, 
in  which  the  artillery  company  kept  their  brass  six 
pounders. 

Perhaps  you  go  to  church  in  some  sumptuous  house 
of  God,  where  you  pay  a  heavy  pew-tax,  and  listen  to 
a  ritual,  and  prefer  it  to  be  intoned,  and  the  rector 
preaches  in  his  surplice,  and  there  is  a  choir  of  boys 
and  men,  and  a  great  organ  and  a  high-salaried  organ- 
ist, and  the  chanting  is  superb.  Perhaps  you  are  a 
ritualist  of  the  ritualists,  and  you  like  to  have  flowers 


A  NEW  ENGLAND   VILLAGE.  17 

and  candles  on  the  altar,  and  are  used  to  see  the  clergy- 
assume  different  postures  at  different  places  within  the 
chancel.  I  make  no  question  that  you  are  very  devout, 
and  the  aesthetic  in  religion  is  a  very  good  thing ;  and 
the  English  Prayer-Book  is  a  magnificent  legacy  from 
the  past  to  the  present  and  the  future.  Perhaps  you 
are  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  to  you  the  services  of  your 
Church  have  a  meaning,  in  all  their  minutiae,  that  I 
never  could  understand ;  so  I  will  not  ask  you  to  look 
in  upon  a  Puritan  congregation  in  the  days  of  my  child- 
hood. But  if  you  are  a  Presbyterian,  or  a  Baptist,  or 
a  Methodist,  albeit  you  may  worship  in  a  very  costly 
church,  seeing  that  you  and  your  fellow-parishioners  are 
rich  people,  who  like  to  do  your  religion  handsomely, 
although  you  do  not  depart  in  doctrine  and  service 
from  the  established  ideas  of  your  denomination,  per- 
haps you  will  take  a  little  interest  in  a  public  worship 
that  preserved  the  Puritan  repugnance  to  any  approach 
to  Eome  or  "Westminster  in  outward  observances,  while 
the  Creed  was  stiffened  with  many  a  belief  that  is  now 
very  much  modified,  if  not  entirely  rejected.  One 
thing,  however,  you  will  please  to  understand,  be  you 
what  you  maj^ :  that  to  me  the  various  avenues  that 
are  opened  to  human  souls,  along  which  they  can  have 
access  to  their  Maker,  each  walking  as  best  suits  him, 
not  only  afford  a  very  interesting  study,  but  are  proofs 
of  the  wonderful  adaptation  of  Christianity  to  human 
nature.  In  this  aspect — do  not  start — they  seem  to  me 
equally  valuable. 

My  readers  must  figure  to  themselves  a  rectangular 
wooden  building,  of  pretty  massive  frame,  with  two 
rows  of  windows  one  over  another  on  the  longest  sides, 
and  a  steep  gable  roof.  At  one  end  is  a  square  tower 
of  the  same  strong  timber  as  the  main  building,  with  a 
belfry  surmounted  by  a  tall  spire,  on  the  top  of  which 
turns  the  invariable  "rooster,"  who  faces  the  wind  in  a 
very  spirited  manner  and  turns  with  the  slightest  vari- 
ation of  the  current.  The  bell  was  one  of  considerable 
size  and  good  tone.  It  needed  to  be,  as  the  parish  ex- 
tended on  two  sides  four  or  five  miles  from  the  meeting- 
house. We  used  to  tell  large  stories  about  the  per- 
b  2* 


18  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

formances  of  that  old  bell  when  it  was  rung  with  the 
full  swing  of  its  ponderous  tongue  at  an  alarm  of  fire. 
For  tolling,  there  was  a  smaller  piece  of  iron  with  a 
round  knob  on  one  end,  hinged  on  a  fulcrum,  and  oper- 
ated by  a  separate  rope.  It  gave  its  strokes  upon  the 
under  side  of  the  bell  as  it  hung  motionless  upon  the 
beam  that  formed  the  axis  for  the  wheel.  There  was 
a  clock  in  the  tower,  just  under  the  belfry,  with  a  dial 
on  each  of  two  sides,  that  could  be  seen  from  afar,  and 
notwithstanding  the  swaying  and  creaking  of  the  tim- 
bers produced  by  the  heavy  swing  of  the  bell,  the  great 
gilt  iron  hands  on  the  dial  kept  on  their  appointed 
round  undisturbed,  and  the  time  of  day  or  night  was 
always  what  that  clock  said  it  was,  no  matter  what 
chronometer  or  other  time-piece  might  assert  it  to  be. 
In  the  room  below  the  belfry,  where  the  sexton  was 
tolling  the  bell,  there  was  a  pane  of  glass  inserted  in 
the  wall  of  the  main  building,  through  which  he  could 
see  when  the  minister  was  ascending  the  pulpit  stair. 
As  the  reverend  person  set  his  foot  on  the  lower  step, 
the  last  stroke  was  sounded  and  the  congregation  were 
in  their  pews. 

These  pews  were  none  of  your  long  narrow  modern 
slips,  but  good  square  structures,  with  wooden  seats  all 
around,  which  turned  upon  hinges.  Some  were  cush- 
ioned and  some  were  not ;  and  whether  bare  or  covered, 
when  the  occupants  stood  up  during  prayer — kneeling 
was  never  practised — the  seats  were  turned  up  for 
standing  room,  and  when  the  prayer  was  ended  they 
came  down  with  some  clatter.  You  know  the  Congre- 
gational form, — the  short  prayer,  then  a  hymn,  then 
reading  of  the  Bible,  then  the  long  prayer,  then  an- 
other hymn,  then  the  sermon,  and  last  the  doxology 
and  the  benediction.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  a  cus- 
tom of  very  ancient  observance,  although  it  is  not,  I 
believe,  wholly  gone  out.  Before  the  long  prayer  the 
minister  read  the  "notes,"  "put  up"  by  those  who  had 
suffered  bereavements  in  the  preceding  week.  They 
ran  thus :  "  J W asks  the  prayers  of  the  con- 
gregation that  the  death  of  his  wife  may  be  sanctified 
to  him  and  his  children  for  their  spiritual  and  everlast- 


A  NEW  ENGLAND   VILLAGE.  19 

ing  good."  And  then  how  fervently  and  with  what 
adaptation  to  each  case,  first,  the  widower,  then  the 
children,  then  the  relatives,  and  lastly  the  congrega- 
tion, did  the  parson  "notice"  all! 

Dr.  Brewster's  sermons  would  perhaps  not  have  in- 
terested you.  There  was  not  much  more  of  doctrine 
and  controversy  than  was  needful  to  keep  his  flock 
faithful  to  the  old  beliefs,  although  he  was  a  learned 
man,  and  well  deserved  his  D.J).  But  his  was  what 
used  to  be  called  practical  preaching;  rebuking  sin, 
setting  forth  the  beauty  of  holiness,  the  efficacy  of  re- 
pentance, the  promises  and  denunciations  of  the  gos- 
pel. It  was  not  without  fruit,  inasmuch  as  he  kept  the 
greater  part  of  his  people  quite  perceptibly  free  from 
the  vice  of  intemperance,  which  was  then  the  prevail- 
ing sin  of  New  England,  and  had  been  for  a  long  time. 
They  were  not  exposed  to  many  other  vices  or  back- 
slidings.  I  have  sat  under  a  great  variety  of  preach- 
ing, and  have  been  a  worshipper  in  many  different 
forms  of  public  religious  observances ;  but  no  cathedral 
service,  Protestant  or  Eomish,  no  deep-tongued  organ, 
no  ritual,  however  perfect,  ever  touches  my  old  heart 
even  now  as  did  the  simple,  bare,  unadorned — perhaps 
you  will  say  irreverent — Congregational  form,  under 
which  were  first  aroused  what  religious  feelings  I  pos- 


But  I  must  tell  something  of  the  other  life  of  the 
dear  old  birthplace  of  my  friend  Henry  Brewster  and 
myself,  for  we  were  boys  of  about  the  same  age.  The 
principal  occupation  of  the  inhabitants  of  Greentown 
was  to  cultivate  the  soil  on  which  they  were  born  and 
which  they  had  for  the  most  part  inherited.  The  life 
of  farmers  and  their  families  in  that  part  of  Massachu- 
setts in  the  early  part  of  this  century  was  a  hard  one. 
The  soil  was  never  what  it  is  in  other  regions,  but  the 
"  stubborn  glebe"  would  yield  a  subsistence,  and  to  en- 
ergy, thrift,  and  the  other  rural  virtues  it  would  yield 
more,  especially  to  those,  and  they  may  be  said  to  have 
been  universally  its  careful  readers,  who  followed  the 
sage  advice  of  "  The  Farmer's  Almanac,  calculated  for 
the  Meridian  of  Boston,  but  will  answer  for  Other  Places, 


20  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

by  Isaiah  Thomas,  "Worcester,  Massachusetts."  Living 
was  comparative!}'  cheap,  for  "  the  era  of  good  feeling," 
which  set  in  politically  in  the  administration  of  Pres- 
ident Monroe,  was  preceded  and  followed,  after  the 
peace  of  1815,  by  a  very  considerable  state  of  prosper- 
ity for  the  whole  country.  But  agriculture  was  not 
the  only  employment  of  the  inhabitants  of  G-reentown. 
The  river  Cliarles  wound  its  devious  way  through  the 
township,  and  at  a  natural  fall  at  one  end  of  our  village 
there  had  been  a  dam  built  at  a  very  early  period. 
This  water-power,  the  oldest  in  America,  turned  the 
wheels  of  a  grist-mill,  a  paper-mill,  and  a  small  cotton- 
factory.  In  the  last  were  produced  the  coarser  manu- 
factures of  cotton  goods,  which  began  those  great  in- 
dustries now  constituting  so  much  of  the  wealth  and 
power  of  New  England.  Below  the  dam  was  an  im- 
portant shad-fisher}^,  belonging  by  customary  law  to 
the  town,  and  leased  annually  to  a  rough  set  of  men 
known  as  "  the  fishermen,"  composed  of  certain  fam- 
ilies who  had  followed  that  pursuit  for  several  gener- 
ations, making  a  kind  of  close  corporation,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  were  rather  immoderately  addicted  to 
New  England  rum,  being  a  good  deal  exposed,  as  to 
their  external  surfaces,  to  the  water,  and  eschewing 
its  internal  use.  There  was  likewise  a  hat-factory,  in 
which  were  made  the  bell-crowned  and  narrow-brimmed 
beaver  hats  of  the  period ;  and  around  the  great  ket- 
tles of  hot  water  stood  "  the  hatters,"  dipping  and  dip- 
ping and  beating  and  beating  the  felt  which  was  to 
be  shaped  by  another  set  of  operatives  into  the  hat- 
bodies,  and  then  passed  to  a  third  set  to  receive  the 
coating  of  fur,  and  then  to  be  lined  and  bound  by 
women  at  their  homes.  Machinery  for  products  of 
this  kind  had  not  attained  a  stage  of  any  importance, 
so  that  the  number  of  hands  employed  was  very  con- 
siderable. The  men  and  boys  engaged  in  these  em- 
ployments would  have  been  for  the  most  part  a  rather 
wild  population  if  the  rule  of  "  the  selectmen"  had  not 
been  a  pretty  vigorous  one.  As  it  was,  the  constable, 
the  justice  of  the  peace,  and  the  general  good  morals 
of  the  place  kept  our  days  and  nights  in  very  tolerable 


A  NEW  ENGLAND   VILLAGE.  21 

order.  Strict  care  was  exercised  over  the  young  girls 
employed  in  these  industries,  and  I  remember  but  one 
instance  in  which  anything  unfortunate  occurred. 

We  had  our  fire  companies,  of  course,  two  of  them,  the 
members  of  which  were  exempted  from  militia  duties. 
The  engines  were  worked  by  hand,  by  levers  called 
"  breaks,"  and  the  water  was  passed  in  leather  buckets 
into  the  tub  along  a  line  of  men  and  boys.  As  the 
buildings  were  everywhere  wooden  structures,  these 
fire  companies  were  very  important  institutions,  and 
to  be  the  "  foreman"  of  one  of  them  was  a  post  of  some 
dignity  and  responsibility.  Once  a  month  there  was 
an  inspection  and  exercise  of  the  whole  apparatus,  and 
it  was  really  remarkable  that  the  stream  of  water  from 
the  hose  could  be  thrown  so  high  and  with  so  much 
force,  considering  that  the  machinery  was  worked  by 
human  muscle  alone. 

But  our  military  organizations  were  the  great  attrac- 
tions for  the  young  people.  A  good  deal  of  military 
spirit  had  come  down  from  the  Eevolutionary  period 
and  through  the  War  of  1812-15.  The  artillery  com- 
pany was  well  equipped  and  well  manned ;  to  command 
it  was  a  high  honor;  and  it  was  regularly  drilled  in 
target-firing,  in  which  I  have  seen  round  shot  thrown 
with  considerable  precision.  There  was  an  eccentric 
captain  during  my  boyhood  who  took  it  into  his  head  to 
plant  his  battery  on  the  bridge  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning  of  a  Fourth  of  July,  and  to  bang  away  furi- 
ously through  a  whole  national  salute,  marching  back 
and  forth  between  the  guns  with  the  blazing  "  port-fire" 
in  his  hand, — that  mysterious  torch  which  it  was  said 
could  not  be  put  out  if  you  thrust  it  into  water.  The 
cartridges  consisted  of  flannel  bags,  with  the  powder 
sewed  up  tight;  and  when  they  were  rammed  home 
the  priming  was  effected  by  piercing  the  bag  through 
the  touch-hole  with  a  tin  tube  filled  with  powder,  hav- 
ing a  small  cup  on  its  outer  end,  supplied  with  a  few 
grains  from  a  powder-horn  after  the  tube  had  been 
driven  in.  Percussion-caps,  you  will  understand,  had 
not  been  introduced.  The  first  one  I  ever  saw  was  on 
a  fowling-piece,  when  I  was  about  twelve  years  old. 


22  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

The  bridge  exploit  of  our  brave  Captain  Soper  almost 
shook  some  of  us  out  of  our  beds,  and  it  broke  a  good 
many  windows  in  the  nearest  houses.  It  was  thought 
to  be  excusable  for  once  on  account  of  the  day,  but  the 
selectmen  ordered  that  such  practice  should  in  future 
be  out  of  the  village. 

We  had,  too,  a  troop  of  light  horse,  well  mounted 
and  extremely  brave  in  loading  and  firing  their  pistols 
and  handling  their  swords.  This  troop  was  composed 
in  part  of  men  of  an  adjoining  town ;  and  as  they  gen- 
erally assembled  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  we  heard 
with  delight  their  bugles  ring  out  a  march  as  they  de- 
scended the  hill  towards  our  bridge.  They  formed  the 
escort  of  President  Monroe's  carriage  when  he  passed 
through  our  town  on  his  way  to  Boston  upon  his  well- 
known  tour  in  New  England.  They  did  the  same  duty 
when  General  Lafayette  came  through,  under  an  arch 
erected  in  our  square  decorated  with  evergreens  and 
flowers  and  inscribed  with  the  words  "  Welcome,  wel- 
come, Lafayette." 

These  were  great  days  :  and  I  must  tell  you  more  of 
the  influences  under  which  we  boys  were  born  and 
brought  up;  for  it  was  here  that  my  friend  Harry 
Brewster,  with  whose  life  we  are  somewhat  concerned, 
received  the  bent  of  his  character.  We  had  among  us 
a  few  old  soldiers  of  the  Eevolution ;  and  there  were 
two  officers — one  a  major,  the  other  a  captain — who 
had  served  under  Washington.  The  last  was  at  the 
head-quarters  of  the  great  commander  at  the  time  of 
Arnold's  treason,  and  it  was  his  special  duty  for  some 
time  to  watch  the  "  Yulture,"  as  she  lay  in  the  Hudson 
below.  Both  of  these  old  gentlemen  had  sheaves  of 
Continental  money  in  their  houses,  not  worth  a  cent. 
But  they  were  in  comfortable  circumstances,  notwith- 
standing the  scandalous  neglect  of  Congress.  The 
major  had  a  fine  family  of  beautiful  daughters,  all  of 
whom  married  most  fortunately  and  went  far  away 
into  the  great  world.  From  these  men  of  the  heroic 
age  of  our  country  we  learned  a  great  deal  that  we 
never  forgot ;  and  we  learned,  too,  what  those  liberties 
were  for  which  they  fought  and  suffered,  and  what 


A  NEW  ENGLAND    VILLAGE.  23 

that  Union  was  which  was  afterwards  formed  under 
the  Constitution.  They  were  Federalists  of  the  school 
of  Washington,  these  old  officers  of  the  Eevolution  ; 
and  their  politics  were  of  the  national,  continental,  but 
moderate  tone  that  marked  the  men  who  founded  our 
present  government.  I  must  not  forget,  either,  to  refer 
to  one  occurrence  in  the  boyish  life  of  Harry  Brewster 
and  mj'self,  which  left  an  impression  never  to  be  effaced. 
We  were  in  the  outskirt  of  the  vast  audience  when 
Daniel  Webster  delivered  his  first  Bunker  Hill  oration, 
at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  the  monument  that 
crowns  that  flimous  summit.  Our  Eevolutionary  towns- 
men were  to  be  present,  and  Dr.  Brewster  was  asked 
to  accompany  them.  He  took  Harry  and  myself  with 
him,  little  as  we  were,  for  he  rightly  thought  that  it 
would  be  something  to  be  remembered.  We  could  not 
be  upon  the  platform,  but  the  doctor  placed  us  under 
the  charge  of  a  trusty  parishioner  of  his,  who  stood 
with  us  upon  the  slope  of  the  hill,  at  the  edge  of  the 
crowd,  where  we  were  near  enough  to  see  the  grand 
figure  of  the  orator  and  occasionally  to  hear  the  roll  of 
his  voice  as  in  some  of  the  more  impassioned  passao-es 
its  clarion  tones  rang  through  the  assembly  in  front'^of 
him.  We  heard  him  say,  "  Venerable  men  !  you  have 
come  down  to  us  from  a  former  generation ;"  and  we 
saw  the  old  men,  bowed  with  age,  and  their  silvered 
heads,  rise  and  stand  while  he  addressed  them. 

Did  we  comprehend  the  full  force  of  what  we  then 
saw  and  heard  ?  Certainly  not,  at  the  time;  but  there 
comes  a  time  when,  from  such  early  impressions,  the 
whole  meaning  is  rounded  out  in  its  full  proportions. 
Whatever  else  you  put  into  the  hands  of  a  youth  to 
read,  if  you  wish  him  to  have  a  true  conception  of  the 
spirit  of  our  revolutionary  epoch,  give  him  that  oration 
of  Webster's  as  one  of  his  first  lessons,  and  then  follow  it 
with  some  of  the  other  masterpieces  of  the  same  orator. 

It  was  in  such  associations  that  Henry  Brewster 
grew  up.  His  early  education  was  in  his  father's 
house.  He  became  an  industrious,  thoughtful;  and 
earnest  boy.  At  Harvard  he  took  a  high  rank,  gradu- 
ating with  distinguished  honor  in  the  year  182-.     At 


24  JOHN  charAxes. 

about  that  time  there  was  a  new  professorship  of  law 
founded  in  the  University.  Brewster  was  one  of  a 
remarkable  class  of  young  men  who  formed  the  first 
pupils  in  the  revived  law  school  at  Cambridge,  to  which 
one  of  the  most  accomplished  jurists  in  the  world  gave 
a  new  impulse  and,  for  a  time,  a  national  renown.  The 
young  men  who  were  educated  as  lawyers  in  that  in- 
stitution at  that  period  had  no  superiors  in  their  pro- 
fession, according  to  my  observation,  and  it  has  been  a 
pretty  wide  one.  They  have  for  the  most  part  passed 
away,  after  filling  admirably  various  positions  on  the 
bench  and  at  the  bar.  Henry  Brewster  gave  early 
promise  of  a  fine  career. 


CHAPTEE   II. 

A   RAPID    LOVE-ArFAIR. 

Yery  few  of  my  readers  will  be  able  to  recall,  in 
that  part  of  Boston  to  which  I  am  now  to  lead  them, 
the  Pearl  Street  of  fifty-odd  years  ago, — a  short  street, 
extending  from  Milk  Street;  a  little  below  the  Old 
South  Meeting-House,  to  Fort  Hill.  This  was  one  of 
the  trinity  of  hills  whence  Boston  derived  the  name 
Tremont,  or  the  Tri-mountain  town.  Fort  Hill  has  long 
since  been  carted  away,  leaving  only  Beacon  Hill  and 
Copp's  Hill  of  the  three  elevations,  one  at  the  west  and 
one  at  the  north  part  of  the  town.  At  the  time  of  which 
I  am  writing  Pearl  Street  was  occupied  on  both  sides 
by  the  town  residences  of  wealthy  merchants,  and  in 
it  dwelt,  in  a  square  and  spacious  house  of  his  own 
erection,  Mr.  James  Bradshaw,  a  prosperous  man, 
architect  of  his  own  fortunes,  engaged  from  early  life 
in  the  East-India  trade,  and  a  large  ship-owner  in  other 
branches  of  commerce.  He  had  not  been  entirely  suc- 
cessful in  escaping  some  of  the  disastrous  efi'ects  of 
the  late  war  with  England ;  and  there  were  left  on 
his  hands  some  of  those  "  French  Spoliation  Claims" 


A   RAPID  LOVE-AFFAIR,  25 

■which  have  become  historical  on  account  of  the  con- 
duct of  our  government,  and  which  remain  unsettled 
to  this  day.  Still  he  had  enough  property  remaining 
to  enable  him  to  become  a  rich  man  before  the  time 
when  these  memoirs  commence.  His  family  consisted, 
at  that  time,  of  the  wife  whom  he  had  married  in  his 
youth,  three  married  daughters,  and  one  daughter  who 
w^as  unmarried.  Of  that  young  lady,  Isabella  Brad- 
shaw,  there  is  a  good  deal  to  be  told.  Without  making 
a  minute  description  of  her,  it  is  enough  to  say,  at 
present,  that  from  her  childhood  she  had  been  a  noted 
beauty.  Her  education  and  character  must  be  learned 
from  the  narrative  of  her  life  as  it  goes  on.  If  I  could 
but  succeed  in  making  her  as  interesting  to  my  readers 
as  she  always  was  to  me!  I  shall  doubtless  incur  some 
criticism, — perhaps  I  shall  encounter  some  reproof, — 
because  I  may  appear  to  have  yielded  too  much  to 
fascinations  that  I  ought  to  have  resisted.  But  I  am 
to  describe  a  woman  whom  I  knew  and  admired,  not- 
withstanding her  faults.  Of  these  I  shall  make  no 
concealment.  I  must  truly  relate  what  befell  her.  It 
is  not  for  me  to  make  the  incidents  of  her  life,  either 
for  punishment  or  reward. 

In  the  year  183-  Isabel  Bradshaw  was  at  the  age 
of  twenty-three.  She  had  never  been  in  love,  and  in 
truth  it  seemed  to  be  her  chief  aim  in  life,  as  it  was 
apparently  her  sole  occupation,  to  make  every  man 
who  came  within  her  influence  fall  in  love  with  her, 
and  to  give  him  no  return.  Whether  this  was  from 
set  purpose  or  from  a  careless  love  of  admiration  and 
sheer  thoughtlessness,  the  mischief  that  she  could  do 
and  did  was  the  same.  She  never  tried  her  attractions 
upon  me,  however,  as  she  did  upon  other  men.  I  had 
left  my  heart  behind  me  in  my  native  village  before  I 
knew  her,  and  she  was  aware  of  it.  I  am  bound  to 
chronicle  her  good  qualities  as  faithfully  as  her  bad 
ones,  and  to  relate  that  she  never  knowingly  interfered 
with  the  peace  of  any  other  woman,  single  or  married. 
After  she  knew  of  my  engagement  to  a  very  lovely 
girl  in  the  country,  daughter  of  a  physician  in  my  na- 
tive place, — she  is  still  spared  to  me  in  the  serene  old 
B  3 


26  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

age  at  which  we  have  both  arrived, — Miss  Bradshaw 
and  I  became  very  good  friends.  She  once  did  me  the 
honor  to  say  that  when  I  married  and  brought  my 
wife  to  Boston  she  should  make  it  a  point  to  call  upon 
her  immediately  and  have  the  pleasure  of  her  acquaint- 
ance. But  my  marriage  did  not  take  place  until  Isa- 
bel had  been  gone  from  Boston  for  some  time,  and  as  my 
wife  did  not  become  acquainted  with  her  until  a  later 
period,  I  lost  the  benefit  of  that  finer  penetration  into 
the  early  character  of  my  beautiful  friend  which  my 
wife's  female  instinct  would  have  given  her,  if  their 
acquaintance  had  begun  earlier  and  had  embraced  the 
years  when  I  was  an  occasional  visitor  at  Mr.  Brad- 
shaw's  hospitable  mansion.  As  it  was,  my  wife's 
knowledge  of  Isabel's  life  from  the  age  of  eighteen  to 
twentj'-three  had  to  be  taken  from  me  at  second  hand, 
as  we  talked  over  its  history ;  but  very  likely,  if  her 
personal  observation  had  accompanied  mine,  she  would 
have  suggested  solutions  of  Isabel's  conduct  which  did 
not  occur  to  me.  Possibly  there  might  have  been  an 
intimac}',  in  which  Isabel  would  have  been  led  to  make 
a  confidante  of  my  wife,  who  was  a  little  older,  and 
who  would  doubtless  have  acquired  some  influence 
over  this  singularly  attractive,  but  to  me  often  unac- 
countable, creature. 

But  how  shall  I  describe  Isabel  Bradshaw's  young- 
ladyhood  ?  Flirtation  is  but  a  feeble  word  to  convey  an 
idea  of  her  multifarious  and  simultaneous  conquests.  A 
girl  who  is  accounted  a  flirt  generally  has  some  one 
affair  on  hand  at  a  time,  and  when  she  is  done  with 
that  she  takes  up  another.  Isabel  carried  on  half  a 
dozen  such  affairs  at  one  and  the  same  time.  The  poor 
moths  would  flutter  and  whirl  around  the  dazzling 
light,  and  one  or  more,  growing  desperate  and  giddy, 
would  plunge  at  the  flame,  and  fall  with  singed  and 
blasted  wings  to  the  ground,  never  to  rise  again. 
Others  would  be  a  little  more  wary,  and  would  escape 
final  scorching,  but  they  could  not  keep  away  from  the 
intoxicating  charm  of  that  dangerous  candle.  To  drop 
the  metaphor — it  is  "something  musty" — and  to  de- 
scend to  the  real  human  individuals,  I  must  tell  you  that 


A   RAPID  LOVE-AFFAIR.  27 

year  after  year,  when  I  visited  at  the  Bradshaws',  I 
have  seen  Isabel  entertain  half  a  dozen  men  Avho  were 
all  desperately  in  love  with  her,  in  the  most  spirited 
manner,  making  each  one  believe  that  in  her  secret 
heart  she  had  a  feeling  about  him  that  might  ripen 
into  "something  to  his  advantage,"  but  which  just  now 
could  not  be  made  more  certain  to  him.  At  one  time 
the  circle  of  her  admirers  consisted  of  the  following, 
among  other  men :  there  was  a  middle-aged  bachelor, 
of  good  family,  with  just  a  very  moderate  property, 
who  had  mathematical  tastes  and  accomplishments. 
He  had  been  a  devoted  slave  of  my  fair  friend,  in  a 
cautious  way,  ever  since  she  was  eighteen.  Another 
was  a  merchant  of  about  the  same  age,  who  lived  with 
two  maiden  sisters;  and  this  gentleman,  a  most  dull 
and  commonplace  person,  was  an  old  friend  of  two  of 
Isabel's  brothers-in-law ;  and  their  wives,  Isabel's  sis- 
ters, shared  the  regard  of  their  husbands  for  this  de- 
luded gentleman,  who  was  constantly  sending  flowers 
to  the  enchantress.  Then  there  was  a  Frenchman, 
who — poor  fool — had  ^reams  of  cutting  out  all  his 
rivals  in  the  favorable  regards  of  "  Mees  Braidzhowe ;" 
and  a  Spaniard,  who  sometimes  had  the  honor  of  being 
asked  to  bring  his  guitar  and  to  sing  a  Spanish  ballad 
to  his  own  accompaniment  on  that  romantic  instru- 
ment. Isabel  rather  liked  foreigners,  and  as  all  fish 
came  readily  to  her  net,  she  considered  the  foreign  as 
good  sport  as  the  native  element.  There  was  also  a 
young  Southerner,  fiery,  jealous,  and  impulsive,  who 
became  sadly  involved  in  the  meshes,  and  who  went 
away  at  last  desperate  to  a  degree,  and  went,  I  believe, 
to  the  bad.  At  all  events,  he  asserted,  I  fear  with  too 
much  reason,  that  Isabel  had  given  him  positive  en- 
couragement and  had  then  cruelly  frowned  upon  him. 
All  of  these  men,  oldish  and  young,  with  the  exception 
of  the  mathematical  gentleman  and  the  Southerner, 
were  in  commercial  pursuits.  Mr.  Bradshaw's  social 
and  business  position  and  his  habits  of  hospitality  led 
him  to  open  his  house  freely  to  all  who  came  properly 
introduced  to  him.  Besides  the  regular  habitues  of  his 
mansion  whom  I  have  mentioned,  there  was  always  a 


28  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

crowd  of  young  men  around  the  Bradshaw  box  at  the 
theatre  and  their  seats  at  a  concert,  paying  attentions 
to  Miss  Isabel  and  bringing  her  bouquets.  In  the 
family  gathering  at  home  there  were  often  present  the 
married  daughters  of  the  house  and  their  husbands,  and 
always  on  Sunday  evenings. 

Isabel's  conversational  powers  were  such  as  would 
have  adorned  a  different  circle.  Her  education  had 
Tiot  been  neglected  in  matters  purely  literary.  From 
the  age  of  thirteen  to  seventeen  she  had  attended,  as  a 
day  pupil,  a  school  kept  by  a  gentleman  in  Boston,  who 
educated  the  daughters  of  many  wealthy  parents  for  a 
long  series  of  years.  He  was  an  admirable  teacher, 
and  he  had  the  art  of  selecting  good  teachers  in 
branches  which  he  did  not  teach  himself.  Isabel,  al- 
though not  much  of  a  student  in  anything,  did  learn  a 
good  deal  at  this  school.  She  knew  something,  when 
she  left  it,  of  the  history  of  her  own  country  and  a 
little  of  the  history  of  other  countries ;  was  fairly 
grounded  in  geography,  and  had  read  or  heard  read, 
some  of  the  masterpieces  of  English  literature.  She 
spoke  French,  not  with  a  Parisian  accent,  but  fluently 
and  correctly.  German  was  not  then  a  part  of  a  young 
lady's  education.  Latin  was,  and  she  went  creditably 
through  three  or  four  books  of  the  ^neid.  She  knew 
Italian  pretty  well.  In  music  she  was  fiiirly  well 
taught.  She  played  on  the  piano  rather  better  than 
most  young  women  of  her  time,  and  she  sang  such 
pieces  as  she  chose  to  learn — they  were  not  many  or 
difficult — with  good  expression  and  apparent  feeling. 
Since  she  left  school  she  had  read  nothing  but  novels  and 
some  poetry;  but  that  part  of  her  life  comprehended 
some  of  Scott's  earlier  prose  fictions,  his  poetry,  and 
Bj-ron's. 

A  girl  with  fine  natural  gifts,  who  had  enjoyed  this 
education,  if  placed  in  a  different  circle,  and  with  a 
wise  mother's  influence  to  guide  her  in  her  intercourse 
with  the  other  sex,  might  have  had  a  different  char- 
acter than  I  am  obliged  to  describe  my  friend  Isabel's 
early  character  to  have  been.  But  her  mother  never 
did  anything  to  guard  her  youngest  daughter  against 


A   RAPID  LOVE-AFFAIR.  29 

the  abase  of  her  extraordinary  powers  of  fascinating 
the  other  sex.  Her  other  daughters  were  sensible  and 
perfectly  correct  women,  who  had  never  needed  the 
discipline  that  Isabel  ought  to  have  had,  and  who  had 
married  well  and  happily.  The  conversation  in  the 
Eradshaw  circle  did  not  run  much  into  topics  that 
might  have  called  forth  Isabel's  natural  powers.  Be- 
tween her  and  her  male  admirers  it  was  mostly  made 
up  of  such  materials  as  form  the  staple  of  all  flirtation, 
with  an  occasional  dash  by  her  into  something  that 
seemed  a  sentiment  towards  the  particular  man  at  the 
moment  favored  with  the  tete-d-tete,  and  not  overheard 
by  the  rest  of  the  circle.  Her  brothers-in-law  talked 
with  her  father  about  "freights;"  whether  they  were 
"up"  or  "down;"  their  wives  talked  to  each  other 
and  their  mother  about  the  last  new  dress  or  some- 
thing about  their  children.  The  last  new  book  was 
seldom  discussed,  public  events  still  more  rarely ;  but 
the  celebrated  actors  and  singers  of  the  time  were  much 
canvassed.  Mr.  Eradshaw  himself,  although  a  man  of 
sense  and  information,  seldom  led"  the  conversation  in 
his  house  to  any  very  elevated  plane.  At  his  own  table 
he  was  a  gentle  and  genial  host,  fond  of  giving  hand- 
some dinners,  and  always  circulating  the  choicest 
wines.  His  rise  in  the  world  had  been  entirely  due  to 
his  own  energies,  and  he  had  the  confident,  resolute, 
and  practical  character  that  belongs  to  that  class  of 
Americans  who  make  their  way  by  their  brains,  exer- 
cised in  honorable  and  upright  paths.  His  reputation 
and  credit  as  a  merchant  were  A  No.  1.  He  was  liked 
and  respected.  As  a  father  of  such  a  girl  as  Isabel,  I 
am  sorry  to  say  that  he  did  not  show  his  good  sense  in 
the  most  important  part  of  her  life  until  after  Henry 
Erewster  appeared  among  them.  It  was  then  a  ques- 
tion whether  Isabel's  character  was  one  that  was  likely 
to  insure  her  happiness. 

Henry  Erewster  came  to  Eoston,  and  was  admitted 
to  the  bar  in  183-  His  father  had  an  old  friend  and 
college  classmate  in  our  modern  Athens,  Mr.  Dana  by 
name.  He  was  a  conveyancer,  a  sound  lawyer,  and  a 
favorite  adviser  of  wealthy  merchants  ;  but  he  had  no 

3* 


30  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

forensic  gifts,  and  never  appeared  personally  in  court. 
Henry  had  brought  from  the  Cambridge  Law  School 
quite  a  little  reputation  as  a  well-read  young  man  and 
a  good  speaker.  The  public  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Harvard  then  took  some  notice  of  such  young  men  ; 
the  fellow  who  pulled  the  best  oar,  or  was  otherwise 
the  greatest  athlete,  being  then  an  unknown  character. 
Dr.  Brewster  secured  for  his  son  Henrj'  a  position  as 
junior  partner  with  his  old  friend.  Henry's  abilities  and 
industry  soon  won  for  him  Mr.  Dana's  entire  confidence 
and  warm  regard.  It  happened  that  Mr.  Bradshaw 
was  one  of  this  gentleman's  steady  clients;  in  fact, 
Mr.  Dana  was  Mr.  Bradshaw's  confidential  lawyer,  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  his  business  and  most  of  his 
family  concerns.  After  Henry  had  been  for  some  time 
in  his  office,  Mr.  Dana  one  day  introduced  him  to  Mr. 
Bradshaw  and  put  into  his  hands  an  important  piece 
of  business  to  be  attended  to  for  that  opulent  mer- 
chant. Everything  was  done  to  Mr.  Bradshaw's  entire 
satisfaction ;  he  became  interested  in  Henry,  and,  ac- 
cording to  his  custom,  invited  him  to  his  house.  He 
saw  that  this  young  man  was  of  a  mould  superior  to 
those  who  were  generally  to  be  found  in  his  mansion, 
and,  although  he  did  not  jump  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  might,  if  he  chose,  make  a  son-in-law  of  the  young 
lawyer,  it  did  occur  to  him  that  Brewster  would  be 
an  acquaintance  in  whom  Isabel  might  find  something 
better  than  there  then  was  on  her  list. 

I  chanced  to  be  visiting  at  the  Bradshaws'  on  the 
evening  when  Henry  made  his  first  call,  so  that  I  can 
speak  from  personal  observation  of  what  occurred. 
Isabel  had  been  for  some  time  talking  with  the  Span- 
iard, a  little  apart  from  the  family  circle,  as  was  her 
wont.  She  had  a  costly  fan  in  her  right  hand,  tipped 
with  a  fringe  of  delicate  white  feathers,  and  she  was 
trying  to  make  the  hidalgo  show  her  how  a  Spanish 
lady,  by  a  simple  motion  of  her  fan,  signifies  to  her 
adorer  that  she  has  a  favorable  regard  for  him  without 
saying  a  word.  This  little  lesson,  quickly  given,  was 
as  quickly  caught  by  Isabel,  and  she  was  deftly  prac- 
tising it  when  Henry  Brewster  entered  the  drawing- 


A  RAPID  LOVE-AFFAIR.  31 

room.  In  an  instant  she  signified  by  a  wave  of  her  fan 
that  she  expected  the  Spaniard  to  vacate  the  chair  by 
her  side,  which  he  did  at  once.  Mr.  Bradshaw  came 
forward,  shook  hands  with  Henry  cordially,  then  pre- 
sented him  to  his  wife  and  married  daughters,  and  last 
to  Isabel.  She  arose,  made  him  a  most  gracious  cour- 
tesy, and  invited  him  to  take  the  vacant  chair.  This 
was  so  far  the  politeness  of  a  well-bred  young  lady  to 
a  stranger.  But  it  was  not  long  before  Miss  Isabel 
gave  the  new  visitor  to  understand  that  she  had  heard 
of  him  before.  She  alluded  delicately  to  her  father's 
satisfaction  in  what  Mr.  Brewster  had  done  in  the  busi- 
ness in  which  Mr.  Bradshaw  had  made  his  acquaint- 
ance, asked  him  how  he  liked  Boston,  whether  he  went 
to  many  parties,  whom  he  knew,  etc.,  etc.  Then  she 
rattled  on  gayly  about  the  recluse  habits  which  she 
feared  Mr.  Brewster  was  following  in  the  pursuits  of 
his  profession ;  then  she  spoke  seriously  of  the  noble 
character  of  that  profession,  which  afforded  so  many 
opportunities  to  redress  wrongs,  defend  the  innocent, 
etc.  She  had  never  known  many  lawyers,  she  said,  but 
she  had  always  desired  to  meet  with  some  gentleman 
in  whose  pursuits  she  could  sympathize  more  than  she 
could  with  the  occupations  of  gentlemen  engaged  in 
commerce.  This  last  remark  was  made  in  a  low  tone, 
so  that  it  was  not  heard  on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 
Henry  was  most  agreeably  surprised  to  find  this 
bright  and  beautiful  girl,  whom  he  had  never  seen  be- 
fore in  his  life,  and  of  whose  existence  until  that  mo- 
ment he  had  never  heard,  speaking  as  if  she  felt  a 
personal  interest  in  him,  and  expressing  a  hope  that 
they  would  become  well-acquainted.  He  was  at  once 
dazzled  by  her  beauty  and  flattered  by  her  intimation 
that  she  had  made  a  valuable  addition  to  her  list  of 
friends.  Harry's  experience  among  the  gentler  sex 
had  been  very  limited.  During  his  boyhood  he  had 
known  all  the  girls  in  his  native  village,  but  he  had  not 
become  attached  to  any  of  them.  In  his  college  days 
he  spent  his  vacations  at  home,  where  he  saw  only 
those  good  and  simple  country  maidens  and  his  only 
sister,  who  was  ten  years  older  than  himself,  and  who, 


32  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

thougli  a  woman  of  a  very  lovely  character,  bore  no  re- 
semblance to  this  dashing  young  lady  with  whom  he 
was  now  talking.  "When  he  was  in  the  law  school  he 
did  not  enter  at  all  into  the  small  and  somewhat  pecu- 
liar society  of  Cambridge,  and  since  he  had  been  in  Mr. 
Dana's  office  his  days  and  nights  had  been  given  to 
study  and  work.  He  may  therefore  be  said  to  have 
been  somewhat  green  in  the  ways  and  characters  of 
women  when  he  first  saw  Isabella  Bradshaw.  He 
was  in  temperament  a  very  grave  and  earnest  young 
man,  but  he  was  not  awkward  or  shy.  He  was  a  gen- 
tleman in  every  inch  of  his  body  and  in  every  fibre  of 
his  moral  nature.  His  manners  garve  you  the  impres- 
sion that  he  had  seen  more  of  the  world  than  he  really 
had.  In  fact,  the  world  that  he  knew  most  about  was 
what  was  to  be  found  in  books  and  in  such  affairs  of 
business  as  he  had  then  been  concerned  in. 

This  first  conversation  with  Isabel  was  long,  and  it 
seemed  to  interest  her  as  much  as  him.  I  observed 
them,  for  much  of  what  they  said  was  audible  enough 
and  was  not  intended  to  be  otherwise.  They  talked  on 
many  subjects,  and  Harry  talked  well.  Isabel  stimu- 
lated him  and  drew  him  out,  and  I  never  saw  him  so 
animated.  She  was  doing  her  best  to  excite  his  admi- 
ration, and  her  best  was  always  something  \evy  fine 
and  successful.  Before  Harry  made  his  bow  and  dis- 
appeared, at  about  ten  o'clock,  I  saw  plainly  that  the 
conquest  was  complete.  In  short,  if  there  ever  was 
such  a  thing  as  love  at  first  sight,  I  saw  a  case  of  it  that 
evening.  What  Isabel  then  thought  of  him  it  was  not 
given  to  me  to  know ;  but  I  know  that  she  was  rarely 
mistaken  in  regard  to  the  impression  which  she  pro- 
duced upon  any  man  who  approached  her,  and  that 
when  she  put  forth  her  power  she  was  perfectly  sure 
of  the  effect.  Whether  she  was  equally  sure  to  be 
careful  about  the  use  that  she  intended  to  make  of  it 
in  this  instance,  I  will  not  pronounce  with  confidence. 
I  doubt  if  she  knew  herself,  and  if  she  did  not  know,  I 
have  no  right  to  assume  that  I  did. 

I  shall  not  dwell  long  on  the  history  of  this  aff'air. 
It  was  rapid  and  impetuous  on  Harry's  part,  although 


A  RAPID  LOVE-AFFAIR,  33 

he  was  not  without  those  misgivings  all  along  which 
every  man  who  loves  suddenly  and  can  love  deeply 
always  feels  when  he  is  not  yet  assured  of  success. 
Isabel,  who  did  not  on  this  occasion  allow  her  feelings 
to  run  away  with  her  anymore  than  she  had  ever  done 
on  any  other  of  the  same  sort,  found  she  was  getting 
some  new  ones  that  she  had  never  before  experienced. 
She  made  up  her  mind  to  accept  Harry  whenever  he 
should  come  to  the  point,  and  she  saw  plainly  that 
this  was  not  far  off.  At  first,  his  visits  were  made  in 
the  evening,  when  the  family  were  alwaj^s  in  the  draw- 
ing-room ;  but,  after  a  few  weeks,  he  came  in  the  after- 
noon, as  often  as  he  could  get  away  from  his  oflSce. 
Isabel  took  care  to  be  generally  at  home  at  that  time 
in  the  day,  and  she  did  not  keep  him  waiting  long. 
She  came  down  with  a  frank  grace  and  a  winning  smile, 
and  they  had  many  hours  such  as  can  come  but  once 
in  a  lifetime.  At  last,,  one  summer's  evening  as  the  sun 
was  going  down,  and  they  were  sitting  just  inside  of 
the  lace  curtain  which  hung  before  an  open  window, 
Harry  poured  out  his  passion.  He  told  her  how  he  had 
loved  her  from  the  hour  when  they  first  met ;  how  he 
had  doubted  and  feared  that  one  so  beautiful  and  lovely, 
the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  father,  who  could  command 
the  most  eligible  match  that  the  society  of  Boston  or 
of  our  whole  country  could  offer,  would  accept  the  love 
of  a  poor  young  lawyer  just  beginning  the  world;  yet 
how  deep  and  fervent  was  the  love  that  he  now  offered 
her,  etc.,  etc.  I  am  a  poor  hand  at  these  tender  pas- 
sages, but  you  will  understand  Harry's  feelings,  and 
can  give  them  expression  as  well  as  I  can.  Isabel 
listened  very  quietly  to  his  impassioned  eloquence,  and 
her  better  nature  was  touched.  Here  was  a  young 
man  of  a  noble  character  who  offered  her  the  greatest 
of  all  gifts,  a  heart  perfectly  unsullied,  and  the  devotion 
of  a  life  which  she  might  believe  would  be  one  that 
any  woman  should  be  proud  to  share.  All  her  former 
conquests  seemed,  as  they  were,  poor  dross  in  the  com- 
parison. Their  ages,  their  tastes,  their  ideas, — Isabel 
rapidly  reviewed  these  things  in  her  mind,  and  she 
honestly  thought  that  they  were  suited  to  each  other  in 


34  JOHN   CHARAxES. 

their  tastes  and  ideas. — would  make  everything  delight- 
ful; her  father's  kindness  would  make  amends  for  all 
disparity  of  fortune.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Harry, 
and,  without  a  blush  or  the  least  sign  of  agitation,  she 
said,  simply,  "  I  accept  your  love,  Mr.  Brewster,  and  will 
give  you  mine."  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that 
she  had  ever  said  this  to  any  man. 

My  old  pen  is  not  fit  to  describe  the  raptures  which 
followed.  I  wish  it  were,  for  your  sake,  my  dear  young 
readers,  for  I  know  that  these  things  are  expected,  and 
that  in  the  circulating  libraries  they  afi'ect  the  number 
of  copies  that  will  be  kept  on  hand ;  but  I  must  content 
myself  with  saying,  in  general,  that  the  endearments 
which  make  the  heaven  of  such  moments  were  abun- 
dant and  after  the  universal  mode  of  such  perform- 
ances. But  passing  over  some  of  the  details,  there  is  one 
thing  that  1  must  relate,  because  it  was  so  pretty  and 
so  natural.  After  an  hour  or  more  of  this  perfect  bliss, 
Harry  asked  her  not  to  call  him  Mr.  Brewster  any 
more,  but  to  find  and  become  used  to  his  other  name. 
*'I  will,"  she  said,  sweetly;  "you  shall  be  Harry  when 
there  is  no  one  else  by  but  some  member  of  my  family, 
but  when  there  are  other  persons  to  hear  me  I  shall 
call  you  Mr.  Brewster.  You  know,"  she  added,  with 
an  arch  smile,  "  that  I  shall  have  some  day  to  promise 
to  love,  honor,  and  obey  you,  and  I  think  women  may 
as  well  begin  before  they  are  married  to  show  that 
they  look  up  to  their  future  husbands."  Harry  pro- 
tested, of  course,  that  he  did  not  want  anj^  looking  up 
from  her,  but  she  gently  laid  her  pretty  fingers  on  his 
lips  and  said,  "Hush,  dear;  if  I  do  not  look  up  to  you 
I  shall  become  mischievous."  How  could  there  be  a 
better  beginning  ? 

If  I  were  writing  a  novel  I  should  have  told  of 
all  the  endearments  that  followed  the  compact  which 
made  Henry  Brewster  the  accepted  lover  of  Isabella 
Bradshaw.  The  novelist  can  invent  anything  he  pleases, 
and  he  is  expected  to  describe,  with  proper  delicacy, 
every  incident  which  followed  the  felicitous  ending  of 
a  courtship  in  an  engagement.  The  novelist  can  even 
look  into  hearts,  and  can  inform  us  whether  the  young 


A  RAPID  LOVE-AFFAIR.  35 

lady  loved  the  young  man  as  much  as  he  loved  her.  I 
can  only  relate  what  Harry  afterwards  told  me,  and 
what  I  could  infer.  I  presume  that  there  was  the 
usual  tender  scene,  after  the  declaration  and  the  accept- 
ance ;  but  I  must  leave  my  readers  to  imagine  it,  saying 
only  that  an  hour  or  more  elapsed  before  these  two 
young  people  were  disturbed.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
Mr.  Brads  haw's  step  was  heard  in  the  hall,  approach- 
ing the  door  of  the  drawing-room.  Isabel  sprang  to 
her  feet  and  met  her  father  as  he  opened  the  door, 
whispering  to  him,  "  Mr.  Brewster  is  here,  sir,  and  I 
believe  he  has  something  to  say  to  you." 

"  I  dare  say  he  has.  It  is  time,"  Mr.  Bradshaw  said, 
with  a  hearty  laugh.  He  caught  his  daughter  in  his 
arms,  kissed  her  forehead,  and,  holding  her  for  an  in- 
stant longer,  he  added,  with  tender  seriousness,  "  Dear 
child,  I  am  rejoiced.'''  He  then  let  her  run  up  to  her 
mother's  chamber,  entered  the  drawing-room,  and  said 
gayly  to  Harry,  whose  hand  he  pressed  warmly  in  both 
of  his  own,  '^  My  young  friend,  I  can  guess  what  you 
have  to  say  to  me,  and  I  will  spare  you  a  formal 
speech.  She  is  yours,  and  I  am  delighted  to  give  her 
to  you.  I  have  watched  you  two  people  for  some  time, 
and  I  am  free  to  say,  without  any  disparagement  to 
either  of  my  sons-in-law,  that  I  am  very  happy  in 
this  match.  I  will  do  for  Isabel  just  what  I  have  done 
for  each  of  her  sisters  :  I  will  give  her  a  house  and 
will  furnish  it.  You  must  do  the  rest.  !N"ow,  walk 
down  to  tea,  for  I  hear  the  servant  coming  to  call  us. 

Harry,  I  need  not  say,  was  warmly  welcomed  by  the 
mother  and  two  of  the  married  daughters,  who  had 
come  in  to  tea.  Isabel  was  calm,  and  appeared  to  be 
verj^  happy.  The  whole  family  were  assembled  later 
in  the  evening;  the  sons-in-law  greeted  there  new 
brother  very  kindly,  all  visitors  were  to  be  told  that 
they  were  not  at  home,  and  the  evening  passed  away 
in  almost  unspoken  contemplation  of  a  new  happiness. 
As  for  Harry,  when  he  walked  to  his  lodgings  late  that 
night,  I  wish  you  to  know  that  he  was  experiencing 
that  exquisite  bliss  that  comes  but  once  in  a  man's  life. 
Yes ;  but  once.     Other  and  subsequent  loves  may  be 


36  JOHN  CHARIxES. 

safer  than  the  first  one ;  may  have  more  of  the  solid 
elements  of  happiness.  But  that  triumphant  and  in- 
toxicating joy  never  comes  a  second  time. 

AVhat  does  this  old  gentleman  mean?  I  hear  some 
captious  critic  ask, — what  does  the  old  goose  mean  by 
bringing  out  the  denouement  of  a  courtship  and  its  suc- 
cessful result  at  the  beginning  of  his  book,  instead  of 
conducting  the  worthy  pair  through  an  involved  series 
of  obstacles  and  difficulties  to  the  proper  reward  of 
virtue  and  truth  and  fidelity  at  the  close  of  his  second 
volume  ?  Do  you  not  know,  critical  reader,  that  early 
love  is  but  the  beginning  of  life,  and  that  life  must 
have  a  long  sequel  of  joys  and  sorrows,  good  fortune 
and  bad,  which  may  or  may  not  be  of  one  thread  back 
to  the  event  which  happened  twenty,  thirty,  or  forty 
years  before  the  last  scene  of  all  ?  I)id  you  never  see 
the  coming  on  of  the  dawn,  heralded  by  the  first  faint 
streaks  of  light,  followed  by  the  gorgeous  hues  which 
precede  the  rising  of  the  great  orb,  and  then  the  blazing 
disk  ascends  quickly  above  the  horizon,  and  a  new  day 
is  born  ?    And  do  you  not  know  that  from  that  hour — 

"  The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky" — 

to  the  going  down  of  that  day's  life  there  must  be  many 
changes,  and  the  blue  vault  maybe  overcast,  and  the 
thunder  may  roll  and  torrents  may  descend,  if  happily 
the  resplendent  bow  of  promise  and  peace  shall  span 
the  eastern  heavens  as  the  sun  breaks  through  the 
western  clouds  ?  I  have  observed  the  first  dawn  of  an 
early  love,  and  its  many  changing  hues,  and  then  its 
glorious  effulgence  of  light  and  hope,  and  have  asked 
myself  whether  the  two  beings  who  have  thus  begun 
to  live  will  walk  together  hand  in  hand  until  the  even- 
ing of  their  days.  Who  can  tell  ?  Heaven  is  above 
us  all. 

On  the  day  following  the  engagement  of  these  two 
young  people  it  was  duly  announced  to  all  their  friends 
and  acquaintances.  Mr.  Bradshaw  spoke  of  it  on  'change 
with  extreme  satisfaction,  nodding  his  head  slightly 
towards  the  building  where  Harry's    name   had'been 


A  RAPID  LOVE-AFFAIR.  37 

borne  on  a  modest  sign  for  about  two  years,  as  much 
as  to  say,  That  young  lawyer  up  there  is  a  man  of 
great  promise,  and  I  consider  my  daughter  as  very  for- 
tunate in  her  choice.  All  the  gentlemen  to  whom  he 
thus  imparted  his  feeling  about  this  event  in  his  family 
congratulated  him  warmly.  Their  wives  and  daughters 
at  home  received  the  intelligence  with  a  good  deal  of 
surprise.  Isabel  was  regarded  by  most  of  her  sex 
through  the  whole  of  Boston  society  with  mixed  opin- 
ions. Some  of  the  elder  ladies,  especially  those  who 
had  sons,  considered  her  a  dangerous  girl ;  some  of 
the  younger  ones  acknowledged  that  she  was  very 
beautiful,  but  they  had  not  always  been  content  with 
the  influence  of  her  beauty  upon  their  male  and  un- 
married friends.  But  there  was  a  social  duty  to  be 
performed,  alike  by  the  old  and  the  young.  It  was  an 
established  custom,  when  a  new  engagement  was  an- 
nounced, for  everybody  to  call  and  congratulate  the 
lady,  and  generally  these  visits  were  made  in  the  fore- 
noon. There  were  commonly  more  ladies  than  gen- 
tlemen at  these  somewhat  formal  calls,  for  the  gen- 
tlemen were  engaged  in  business  at  that  part  of  the 
day,  and  they  tendered  their  felicitations  more  casually 
when  they  chanced  to  meet  the  fair  fiancee.  Isabel, 
arrayed  in  a  very  becoming  dress, — her  taste  in  dress 
was  always  exquisite, — received  her  visitors  with  a 
calm  smile,  which  did  not  quite  suit  some  of  the  elder 
ladies,  who  looked  for  a  little  more  of  what  they  called 
''  proper  feeling."  It  was  rather  an  ordeal  for  a  young 
lady  who  had  never  been  universally  popular  with  her 
own  sex  in  her  native  city.  But  Isabel  carried  it 
through  the  two  or  three  days  of  the  ceremony  with 
much  grace,  and  whether  her  feelings  were  deep  or 
shallow  she  did  not  consider  to  be  a  matter  that  con- 
cerned any  one  else,  if  she  thought  of  them  at  all.  It 
was  not  so,  however,  with  her  visitors.  I  do  not  speak 
of  the  present,  but  at  the  period  when  Isabella  Brad- 
shaw  became  so  much  talked  about  everybody  in  Bos- 
ton society  not  only  knew  everything  that  could  be 
known  about  everybody  else,  but  characters,  conduct, 
past  history,  and  future  probabilities  were  discussed 

4 


38  JOHN  CHARIXES. 

with  a  minuteness  and  fine-spun  analysis  that  were 
most  remarkable,  if  not  edifying  and  salutary.  My 
readers  must  therefore  expect  to  hear  of  some  things 
which  I  hope  never  reached  my  friend  Isabel. 

Two  middle-aged  and  married  ladies  left  Mr.  Brad- 
shaw's  house  together.  Mrs.  Henshaw's  carriage  stood 
at  the  door. 

"  Let  me  take  you  home,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  ^ewcome  ; 
"  we  will  drive  'round  the  Common,  as  the  day  is  so 
fine." 

Mrs.  Henshaw  had  a  son,  and  Mrs.  ]^ewcome  had  a 
daughter,  both  in  society. 

"  Well,"  said  the  former  lady,  after  they  were  seated 
in  the  carriage,  "  I  never  expected  to  see  Isabella  Brad- 
shaw  engaged,  for  I  never  believed  she  could  love  any 
man,  and  I  doubt  if  she  cares  more  for  this  young 
Brewster  than  she  has  for  any  of  the  others  by  whom 
she  has  been  so  long  surrounded.  I  am  thankful  that 
my  son  Albert  never  fell  in  love  with  her." 

"  I  think,"  replied  Mrs.  Newcome,  "that  you  do  Isabel 
injustice.  I  have  known  her  since  she  was  a  child.  She 
and  my  Sarah  were  at  school  together,  and,  although 
they  have  never  been  intimate,  I  have  ahvays  found 
that  Sarah  gave  Isabel  credit  for  some  good  qualities.  I 
understand  that  Mr.  Brewster  has  a  great  deal  of  char- 
acter, and  I  think  that  we  are  all  bound  to  believe  it 
to  be  best  for  Isabel  to  marry  a  man  to  whom  she  will 
have  to  look  up,  and  who  will  be  able  to  develop  her  in 
the  way  that  she  needs." 

Mrs.  Henshaw  shook  her  head  :  "  My  dear  friend,  a 
girl  who  has  lived  for  years  on  the  admiration  of  a  mis- 
cellaneous crowd  of  men,  for  not  one  of  whom  did  she 
ever  care  a  fig,  but  all  of  whom  she  has  kept  dangling 
after  her  until  they  have  made  fools  of  themselves,  will 
never  be  content  with  the  life  that  she  will  have  to  lead 
as  the  wife  of  a  hard-working  young  lawyer.  Albert, 
I  am  thankful  to  be  able  to  say,  was  warned  in  time. 
He  has  not  visited  at  the  Bradshaws'  for  two  years. 
He  had  too  much  pride  to  put  himself  in  competition 
with  any  of  Miss  Bradshaw's  admirers. 

"Well,"  answered  Mrs.  Newcome,  "let  us  hope  for 


A   RAPID   LOVE-AFFAIR.  39 

the  best.  But  here  we  are  at  my  door.  Will  you  come 
in?" 

"  ]^o,  thank  you,  not  now.  I  am  going  to  call  at  the 
AYarners.     Good-by!"  and  she  drove  on. 

The  Warners  were  a  family  who  considered  them- 
selves, and  were  considered,  the  crime  de  la  creme  of 
Boston  society.  And  here  I  should  like  to  know  if,  to 
be  exclusive ;  to  be  able  to  say,  "  We  do  not  know  them 
at  all ;"  to  have  inherited,  not  made,  wealth ;  to  have 
had  a  father  or  a  grandfather  who  may  have  sold  j^ins 
and  needles  or  retailed  molasses,  but  who  somehow  in 
his  later  years  managed  to  assume  the  bearing  and  to 
have  the  manners  and  ways  of  the  very  highest  class, 
and  to  have  his  children  accepted  as  the  haute  noblesse, 
— if  all  this  and  a  certain  indefinable  claim,  which  is 
not  made  up  of  any  real  superiority,  but  comes  to  be 
admitted,  do  not  give  a  family  a  right  to  consider 
themselves  as  higher  than  their  neighbors,  what  in  this 
republican  land  of  ours  will  enable  them  to  stand  in 
that  elevated  position?  The  Warners  certainly  stood 
there. 

Mrs.  Warner  and  her  daughter  Mary  were  in  their 
drawing-room  when  Mrs.  Henshaw's  card  was  brought 
in,  and  they  received  that  lady  as  they  commonly  re- 
ceived their  visitors  whom  they  considered  to  be  very 
nearly  as  good  as  themselves. 

"  Have  you  heard  of  the  new  engagement  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Henshaw,  after  the  warmth  of  the  weather  had 
been  duly  remarked  upon. 

"What  engagement?"  inquired  Miss  Warner. 

"  Miss  Isabella  Bradshaw,  to  a  young  lawyer  of  the 
name  of  Brewster.     It  was  announced  yesterday." 

Miss  Warner  looked  at  her  mother,  as  if  to  ascertain 
whether  they  should  admit  that  they  had  heard  of  this 
event. 

"  We  do  not  know  them  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Warner, 
"  and  therefore  we  have  not  been  in  the  way  of  hear- 
ing of  anything  that  concerns  the  Bradshaw  family. 
I  have  always  understood  that  Miss  Bradshaw  is  a  co- 
quette, and  that  her  mother  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
allowing  her  to  receive  the  visits  of  gentlemen  when 


40  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

she  was  not  herself  present,  in  the  evening  or  during 
the  day." 

Miss  Mary  Warner  was  a  young  lady  who  had  never 
in  her  life  received  the  visit  of  a  gentleman  without 
the  presence  of  her  mother's  watchful  eye  and  ear,  and 
she  was  in  a  fair  way  to  reach  that  state  in  which  she 
would  never  have  to  announce  to  her  friends  that  she 
expected  to  change  her  condition.  Yet  she  was  a  girl 
who  might  have  had  many  advantageous  offers,  if  the 
men  of  her  acquaintance  could  have  approached  her 
under  circumstances  which  would  render  love-making 
a  possibility.  She  was  highly  educated,  was  pleasing, 
and  attractive.  But  she  had  lived  all  her  life  under  a 
system  in  which  Isabella  Bradshaw  could  not  have 
breathed.  The  only  chance  that  any  gentleman  had 
for  saying  soft  things  to  her  was  in  a  quadrille, — round 
dances  were  not  allowed, — and  when  the  dance  was 
over  she  was  immediately  gathered  under  the  maternal 
wing,  to  remain  there  until  the  next  partner  came  up 
to  receive  Mrs.  "Warner's  approving  nod.  I  have  seen 
in  the  same  assemblies  some  rather  less-restricted  young 
lady  take  the  arm  of  a  young  gentleman  and  walk 
up  and  down  the  floor  of  the  ball-room  between  the 
dances.     But  not  so  Miss  Warner. 

"  I  have  heard  my  brother  Thomas  say,"  Miss  War- 
ner remarked,  "  that  Miss  Bradshaw  is  very  beautiful, 
and  I  believe  I  once  saw  her  at  a  distance.  I  suppose 
they  are  not  people  of  culture.  Do  you  know  the  gen- 
tleman to  whom  she  is  engaged,  Mrs.  Henshaw  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Henshaw,  "  and  I  know  all  the 
Bradshaw  family,  and  I  have  not  a  very  high  opinion 
of  Miss  Isabella.  I  have  just  made  the  usual  call  there, 
and  I  must  say  that  I  never  saw  any  young  lady  on 
the  very  next  day  but  one  after  her  engagement — I 
understand  that  it  took  place  only  the  night  before 
last — show  so  little  of  what  one  would  call  proper  feel- 
ing. She  was  just  as  calm  as  if  you  had  called  to  con- 
gratulate her  on  finding  a  bracelet  that  she  had  lost, 
or  any  other  trivial  occurrence  in  life.  I  was  really 
astonished." 

"Do  you  not  think,"  inquired  Mrs.  Warner,  in  rather 


A   RAPID   LOVE-AFFAIR.  41 

a  stately  manner,  "that  this  custom  of  young  ladies  re- 
ceiving the  congratulatory  visits  of  all  their  acquaint- 
ances on  the  announcement  that  they  are  engaged  to 
be  married  is  one  that  would  be  better  honored  in  the 
breach  than  in  the  observance?  An  engagement  is  a 
very  solemn  event  in  a  young  lady's  life,  and  in  all  the 
best  circles  that  I  have  known  it  is  so  considered.  I 
am  sorry  that  even  some  people  of  culture  do  not  seem 
to  regard  this  custom  as  a  questionable  one.  I  know 
that  it  has  been  long  established,  but  I  am  sure  that 
Mary,  when  she  becomes  engaged,  will  be  willing  to  set 
a  better  example.  But  you  say  that  you  know  this 
Mr.  Brewster.     What  sort  of  person  is  he  ?" 

Mrs.  Warner,  although  she  moved  in  a  very  elevated 
sphere,  had  as  much  curiosity  as  most  people,  and  was 
often  willing  to  talk  about  persons  who  were,  as  she 
considered,  much  below  her  in  the  social  scale. 

"  I  have  seen  young  Brewster,"  said  Mrs.  Henshaw, 
"  and  I  like  his  manners.  I  believe  that  he  distinguished 
himself  at  Cambridge.  He  comes  of  an  excellent  family. 
You  must  have  heard  his  father,  the  late  Dr.  Brew- 
ster, preach ;  he  has  sometimes  exchanged  with  your 
minister.  Dr.  Fowler." 

"Oh,  you  mean  that  Dr.  Brewster,  of  Greentown, 
who  died  some  few  months  since?  Yes.  He  was  one 
of  the  pillars  of  Congregational  orthodoxy.  Is  this 
young  lawyer  his  son  ?" 

"  He  is  the  only  son  of  Dr.  Brewster,"  replied  Mrs. 
Henshaw,  "  and  Mr.  Henshaw  says  that  he  is  rising 
rapidly  in  his  profession." 

"I  am  sorry,"  remarked  Mrs.  Warner,  "that  he 
should  not  have  seen  more  of  our  best  society  before 
forming  such  a  connection.  But  we  have  not  been  out 
much  lately,  and  have  not  given  many  parties.  We 
should  have  very  willingly  admitted  into  our  circle  a 
son  of  Dr.  Brewster.  I  wonder  that  he  did  not  give 
his  son  a  letter  to  my  husband  when  he  came  to  Boston." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Henshaw,  "  the  young  man  has 
not  been  much  in  society,  because  he  is  a  great  student." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Warner,  "those  are  the  young  men 
who  are  likely  to  be  fascinated  by  such  a  girl  as  Miss 

4* 


42  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

Bradshaw.  Mr,  "Warner  told  me  that  Mr.  Bradshaw 
invited  Mr.  Brewster  to  visit  his  daughter  about  three 
months  ago.  I  cannot  conceive  of  a  father's  doing 
such  a  thing." 

"  Perhaps,  mamma,"  said  Miss  Warner,  "Mr.  Brad- 
shaw thought  that  young  Brewster  would  be  a  good 
match  ;  he  is  so  well  spoken  of." 

"Yery  likely,  my  dear ;  but  neither  your  father  nor  I 
would  have  given  you  a  new  acquaintance  in  just  that 
way." 

Mrs.  Henshaw  here  rose,  saying  that  she  hoped  they 
would  soon  return  her  visit.  Albert  Warner  was  a 
young  man  whom  Mrs.  Henshaw  wished  to  cultivate 
for  the  sake  of  a  niece  of  hers. 

I  protest  that  these  Boston  ladies  were  rather  hard 
upon  my  lovely  friend  Isabel.  But  perhaps  my  readers 
will  expect  me  to  explain  how  it  happened  that  in  a 
pretty  compact  town  of  forty  thousand  inhabitants,  in 
which  the  families  of  the  wealthy  were  all  about  on  a 
par  in  education,  manners,  modes  of  life,  and  most 
other  things,  there  should  have  been  circles  in  which 
it  could  be  said  we  do  not  know  them  at  all,  when  the 
them  lived  in  the  very  next  street  and  in  just  as  good  a 
house  as  the  social  agnostics  who  made  this  mild  de- 
nial of  any  acquaintance  with  persons  about  whom 
they  talked.  You  know  that  in  the  great  cities  of  the 
world,  London  or  Paris,  for  example,  where  there  is  a 
vast  society,  if  you  comprehend  all  who  lead  about  the 
same  lives,  there  are  circles  and  circles,  cliques  and 
coteries,  a  society  which  is  the  society  par  excellence^ 
and  societies  which  cannot  claim  to  be  the  real  fashion 
of  the  world  that  is  constituted  by  a  great  metropolis 
of  a  great  country.  Yet,  as  I  suppose, — you  under- 
stand that  I  make  a  supposition, — people  who  in  those 
great  centres  really  move  in  different  spheres  do  not  in 
general  talk  much  about  those  whom  they  do  not  visit. 
In  fact,  in  the  little  observation  I  have  had  in  such 
places,  I  have  noticed  that  there  is  not  much  scandal 
talked  in  any  circle  about  the  members  of  other  cir- 
cles, while  there  is  often  enough  of  it  about  one's  friends 
and  acquaintances.     But  in  such  a  place  as  Boston  was 


A  RAPID  LOVE-AFFAIR.  43 

fifty  years  ago  exclusiveness  was  a  social  phenomenon 
that  did  not  depend  upon  the  magnitude  of  the  city. 
These  things  are  just  as  likely  to  be  found  in  a  small 
as  in  a  large  community,  resulting,  however,  from  dif- 
ferent causes.  They  have  always  reminded  me  of  the 
saying  of  a  wise  and  caustic  old  gentleman  :  "Man  is 
an  animal  of  but  few  tricks ;"  and  the  observation  might 
have  included  the  women  also,  although  the  wives  and 
daughters  will  often  exhibit  a  little  wider  range  in  some 
of  their  social  performances  than  the  husbands  and 
fathers.  Men  who  met  every  day  on  'change,  and 
knew  exactly  how  every  other  man  stood  financially, 
and  who  carried  home  all  the  gossip  of  State  Street. 
did  not  expect  their  families  to  be  intimate  with  the 
families  of  all  the  other  gentlemen  whose  concerns  they 
knew  all  about,  and  whose  note  they  would  have  dis- 
counted at  the  bank  where  they  happened  to  be  direc- 
tors for  any  amount  whatever  without  the  slightest 
question. 

But  I  have  wandered  away  from  my  early  friend, 
Harry  Brewster.  How  did  it  fare  with  him  after  his 
engagement  was  announced  ?  It  seems,  from  what  Mrs. 
Henshaw  mentioned  at  Mrs.  Warner's,  that  he  had  lost 
his  father  before  he  became  acquainted  with  Isabel. 
The  good  old  parson  died  about  three  months  before 
his  son  became  a  visitor  at  the  Bradshaws'.  All  who 
were  natives  of  Greentown,  if  they  were  near  enough 
to  reach  the  old  village,  were  at  his  funeral.  I  was 
there  to  do  what  I  could  for  Harry  and  to  testify  my 
love  and  veneration  for  the  pastor  who  had  baptized 
me.  The  pulpit  was  draped  in  black  cloth,  and  after 
the  funeral  sermon  had  been  preached,  on  the  next 
Sunday,  this  was  taken  down  and  given  as  a  kind  of 
melancholy  perquisite  to  the  widow.  The  excellent  old 
lady  did  not  long  survive  her  husband.  Harry  was 
left  with  no  near  relative  excepting  his  sister,  Miss 
Elizabeth  Brewster,  whom  I  have  as  yet  mentioned  but 
incidentally.  We  shall  meet  with  her  later.  A  recent 
graduate  from  the  Divinity  School  at  Cambridge,  who 
had  adopted  the  new  Unitarian  opinions,  came  and 
preached  for  some  weeks  as  a  "  candidate."      He  re- 


44  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

ceived  a  "  call"  at  the  end  of  those  weeks,  and  was  or- 
dained in  the  customary  Congregational  mode.  The 
congregation  and  "  the  Church,"  as  the  communicants 
were  collectively  styled,  slid  gradually  under  the  new 
preaching  into  the  growing  Unitarian  body,  as  did 
many  of  the  parishes  of  Eastern  Massachusetts.  The 
creed  was  reformed,  and  in  the  place  of  Dr.  Watt's 
psalms  and  hymns,  or  such  other  orthodox  collection 
as  had  been  used.  Dr.  Belknap's  new  hjmm-book  was 
substituted.  In  some  of  the  parishes  a  fierce  theologi- 
cal controversy  waged  for  a  time,  but  in  our  Greentown 
we  took  mildly  to  the  new  faith,  without  much  bicker- 
ing. The  new  minister  was  a  scholar,  and  a  man  of 
some  t^ct.  If  he  found  it  needful  to  encounter  An- 
dover  in  his  sermons,  he  did  not  do  it  in  a  way  to  make 
it  necessary  for  his  parishioners  to  engage  in  much 
reading. 

Miss  Brewster  surrendered  the  parsonage  imme- 
diately after  her  mother's  death,  and  accepted  a  position 
as  teacher  in  a  famous  boarding-school  for  young  ladies 
at  Troy,  in  the  State  of  New  York.  She  was  there 
when  her  brother  became  engaged  to  Isabel  Bradshaw, 
and  her  duties  drd  not  admit  of  a  visit  to  Boston  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  his  future  wife.  Her  father, 
who,  as  I  have  said,  was  an  old-fashioned  scholar,  had 
for  many  years  been  occupied  in  making  a  new  trans- 
lation of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures.  He  had  completed  it 
before  he  died,  and  the  MSS.,  with  his  library,  passed 
into  Harry's  possession.  It  was  never  published  ;  but 
I  have  heard  good  judges,  who  had  examined  parts  of 
it,  say  that  it  was  a  learned  book. 

And  now  I  have  only  to  relate — it  goes  almost  with- 
out saying — that  Harry  was  supremely  happy.  A  new 
incentive  to  exertion,  the  best  and  noblest  that  can 
animate  a  young  man  and  make  ambition  something  by 
which  money  and  fame  are  to  be  sought  for  the  sake 
of  another's  happiness,  filled  his  whole  being.  Every 
hour  that  he  could  gain  from  business  or  study  was 
passed  with  Isabel.  They  read  together,  they  walked 
and  drove,  the  long  rapturous  hours  of  bliss  that  seemed 
so  short  when  he  had  to  leave  her — well,  you  will  un- 


A  SUDDEN  DISASTER.  45 

derstand  it  all.  Isabel  seemed  to  be  very  happy.  Her 
family  were  all  rejoiced,  and  all  believed  that  now  she 
was  safe.     And  so  it  went  on  for  five  weeks. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

A   SUDDEN   DISASTER. 

With  all  llr.  Bradshaw's  kindness  and  liberality, 
Harry  could  not  expect  to  marry  very  soon.  Long 
engagements  may  be  fortunate  or  unfortunate,  accord- 
ing to  circumstances.  In  the  present  case  there  was 
time  enough  for  the  enjoyment  of  all  that  lovers  can 
enjoy  and  for  learning  all  of  each  other  that  they  can 
learn  before  marriage.  Harry  could  not  be  much  with 
his  lady-love  during  the  day :  he  was  necessarily  con- 
fined to  his  office.  They  did  manage  to  be  together  at 
times,  when  they  could  be  alone.  In  the  evenings  there 
was  generally  company  at  the  house,  and  Isabel  could 
not  absent  herself  from  the  drawing-room.  Mr.  Brad- 
shaw's was  almost  the  only  house  in  Boston  where  the 
family  received  visitors  in  the  evening  without  cere- 
mony, and  a  great  many  men  had  the  entree  of  that 
pleasant  circle.  The  married  daughters  were  agreea- 
ble, though  not  extraordinary  women.  Their  husbands 
were  sensible  and  intelligent  men.  Mr.  Bradshaw  him- 
self was  exceedingly  hospitable,  and  he  had  a  wide  con- 
nection with  the  world.  There  were  not  many  evenings 
in  the  week  when  the  chandelier  in  their  drawing-room 
was  not  lighted  and  when  Isabel  was  not  assisted  by 
one  or  more  of  her  sisters  in  entertaining  visitors.  On 
Sunday  evenings,  which  a  lover  usually  considers  as  a 
time  when  he  is  entitled  to  exclusive  consideration  from 
his  fiancee,  the  whole  family  were  assembled ;  and 
although  Isabel's  engagement  was  known  to  everybody, 
and  the  men  who  had  fluttered  around  her  so  long 
ought  to  have  accepted  the  inevitable,  they  did  not 
seem  to  have  done  so.     They  were  there  as  much  as 


46  JOHN   CHARAXES. 

ever,  and  as  much  as  ever  they  addressed  to  Isabel 
their  vapid  compliments  and  silly  flatteries. 

Mrs.  Henshaw  may  have  been  a  little  uncharitable, 
but  there  was  a  general  truth  in  her  remark,  that  when 
a  girl  has  lived  for  years  on  incense  offered  to  her  by  a 
miscellaneous  crowd  of  admirers  she  is  not  very  likely 
to  have  deep  feelings.  Isabel  certainly  liked  to  be  ad- 
mired, but  it  would  not  be  just  to  say  that  she  lived  on 
incense.  It  must  not  be  concluded  that  she  was  a 
heartless  girl,  although  it  might  be  a  question  whether 
she  entirely  understood  herself.  Harry  was  not  of  a 
jealous  disposition.  Isabel  had  accepted  his  love  and 
had  promised  to  give  him  hers.  This  was  a  great  thing. 
She  had,  so  he  reflected,  been  very  generous  in  thus 
promptly  meeting  his  passionate  appeal  to  her.  He 
must  not  expect  too  much, — he  must  not  be  selfish, — 
she  could  not  at  once  give  to  him  the  exclusive  devo- 
tion that  he  craved.  She  must  continue  to  fill  in  her 
father's  house  the  position  she  had  so  long  occupied  as 
its  ornament  and  pride  until  she  became  his  wife.  Still, 
it  was  annoying  to  have  things  go  on  very  much  as 
before.  It  provoked  him  to  find  that  the  grimacing 
Frenchman  and  the  solemn,  sentimental  Spaniard  were 
always  in  the  way.  Even  the  cautious  mathematician 
and  the  mercantile  friend  of  Isabel's  brothers-in-law,  who 
ought  to  have  known  better,  did  not  seem  to  have  left  off 
calculating  that  this  engagement  might  not  end  in  mar- 
riage. Nothing,  however,  occurred  to  shake  Harry's 
confidence  in  Isabel's  fidelity.  If  he  compared  himself 
with  any  of  these  men,  he  rejected  with  scorn  the  idea 
that  any  of  them  could  supplant  him. 

It  may  be  that  the  French  system  of  matrimonial 
alliances  as  it  existed,  at  least  under  the  ancien  regime^ 
is  better  than  our  practice  of  leaving  girls  to  them- 
selves. I  have  read  a  beautiful  revelation  of  those 
French  manners  in  some  memoirs  privately  printed  by 
the  La  Fayette  family,  in  which  it  is  told  how  the  aris- 
tocratic and  religious  Duchesse  d'Ayen  selected  the 
young  marquis  to  be  the  husband  of  her  youngest 
daughter,  when  they  were  both  very  youthful ;  how 
the  treaty  between  the  two  families  was  conducted  and 


A   SUDDEN  DISASTER.  47 

concluded ;  how  the  marquis  had  the  first  interview 
with  the  blushing  girl;  how  he  was  sometimes  allowed 
to  walk  with  her  in  the  garden  of  the  old  hotel  in  the 
Faubourg  de  St.  Germain  ;  how  delightfully  it  all  turned 
out,  and  what  a  wise,  devoted,  and  heroic  wife  that  girl 
became. 

Perhaps  the  German  system  of  a  formal  and  some- 
what public  betrothal  is  a  very  good  one.  American 
girls  of  all  ages  are  too  often  allo\Yed  to  associate  with 
all  sorts  of  fellows.  Even  when  there  has  been  no 
laxity  of  parental  watchfulness  it  is  perhaps  suddenly 
found,  to  the  horror  of  every  one,  that  a  daughter, 
reared  with  all  the  benefit  of  mere  mental  education, 
and  who  is  naturally  refined,  is  desperately  in  love  with 
a  coachman.  When  an  engagement,  apparently  suitable 
in  all  respects,  has  been  formed  with  the  parents'  con- 
sent, it  is  not  always  considered  a  very  heinous  thing 
to  break  it.  I  am  not  disposed  to  say  that  the  freedom 
allowed  to  our  girls  does  not,  on  the  whole,  lead  to  as 
many  good  marriages  as  bad  ones ;  but  happiness  or 
unhappiness,  success  or  miserable  failure,  in  such  con- 
nections, depends,  when  there  are  living  parents,  very 
much  upon  the  way  in  which  they  have  watched  over 
and  formed  the  characters  of  their  daughters.  In 
justice,  however,  to  those  parents  who  have  neglected 
no  duty  and  have  yet  had  to  find  that  their  daughter 
has  set  her  heart  upon  a  boor,  it  must  be  allowed  that 
it  is  not  always  possible  to  prevent  such  misfortunes. 

Titania,  entreating  Bottom,  pours  out  to  him  the  de- 
lusions of  her  disordered  fancy : 

"  Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed, 
While  I  thy  amiable  cheeks  do  coy, 
And  stick  musk-roses  in  thy  sleek  smooth  head, 
And  kiss  thy  fair  large  ears,  my  gentle  joy." 

And  then,  when  she  is  touched  by  the  potent   herb 
which  removes 

"  This  hateful  imperfection  of  her  eyes," 

comes  the  shameful  confession, — 

"  Methought  I  was  enamoured  of  an  ass." 


48  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

Oh,  Shakespeare,  great  master  of  all  the  passions, 
who  gave  you  your  marvellous  insight,  your  delicate 
satire  upon  human  nature  ?  Your  little  Titania's  folly 
has  been  enacted  over  and  over  again,  and  will  be  to 
the  end  of  time,  if  women  shall  so  long  be  subject  to 
the  dotage  of  their  imaginations.  How  often  have  I 
seen  a  sweet  and  lovely  girl  kiss  the  fair,  large  ears  of 
some  egregious  donkey,  and,  alas!  the  awakening  herb, 
that  came  seasonably  to  the  Fairy  Queen,  has  come  to 
the  human  maiden  much  too  late ! 

Ladies,  you  must  excuse  my  moralizing.  I  am  an 
old  man,  and  perhaps  I  have  rather  a  propensity  to 
look  on  the  serious  side  of  life.  I  promise  you  this 
shall  be  my  last  digression,  if  you  will  follow  to  the  end 
the  fortunes  of  two  people  who  were  very  dear  to  me. 

Mrs.  Bradshaw  was  a  good  mother,  but  she  was  a 
weak  one.  She  was  born  in  what  we  sometimes  call 
humble  life.  Her  parents  were  poor,  but  very  respect- 
able people;  she  had  a  common-school  education,  and 
was  married  young.  Her  husband's  remarkable  pros- 
perity gave  her  the  means  of  acquiring  the  manners 
of  a  lady,  and  she  was  a  woman  of  delicate  feelings. 
Wealth  and  luxury,  however,  do  not  always  bring  every 
kind  of  wisdom  or  very  enlarged  perceptions.  Mr. 
Bradshaw's  success  in  life  made  him  a  model  merchant. 
He  was  an  open-hearted  and  open-handed  man,  and  he 
had  a  certain  shrewd  knowledge  of  human  nature  in 
general.  He  did  not,  however,  understand  how  neces- 
sary it  is  to  adapt  the  training  of  children  to  their 
natural  dispositions  and  qualities.  He  considered  it  his 
duty  to  afford  to  all  his  daughters  equal  advantages 
of  education,  and  he  left  the  rest  to  his  wife,  who  was 
not  sufficiently  sensible  of  the  difference  between  Isabel 
and  her  sisters.  They  had  none  of  her  fascinations  or 
her  power  over  the  feelings  of  the  other  sex  from  their 
early  youth.  They  were  good,  sensible,  domestic  charac- 
ters, and  they  married  well  and  happily.  Isabel  was  a 
girl  who  needed  restraints  which  her  sisters  did  not, 
and  her  mother  had  never  taught  her  how  to  regulate 
her  own  heart. 

Five  weeks  passed  away,  in  which  Harry  had  noth- 


A  SUDDEN  DISASTER.  49 

ing  to  mar  his  happiness  but  the  trifling  annoyances 
which  he  endeavored  to  disregard,  while  Isabel  was  all 
sweetness  and  tranquillity.  At  the  end  of  those  weeks 
it  became  necessary  for  him  to  go  away  from  Boston 
for  some  time,  to  attend  to  an  important  matter  of 
business  in  a  distant  part  of  the  country.  When  he 
parted  from  Isabel  there  were,  of  course,  mutual  prom- 
ises of  writing  every  day.  Harry,  I  need  not  say,  did 
his  part  towards  justifying  the  worth}^  post-mistress's 
observation  in  the  "Antiquary:"  "  'A  great  advantage 
to  the  revenue  o'  the  post-office,'  said  Mrs.  Mailsetter, 
'  these  love-letters.' "  Isabel  wrote  three  times,  and  Harry 
showed  me  the  letters  when,  in  the  confidence  of  our 
long  friendship,  it  became  right  to  do  so.  They  did  not 
evince  a  great  exuberance  of  affection.  Some  women 
do  not  at  first  write  good  love-letters,  and  some  never 
do,  either  before  or  after  marriage.  Perhaps  it  is 
maidenly  reserve  that  prevents  them  before  marriage 
from  expressing  on  paper  all  that  they  feel ;  and  the 
letters  of  a  wife  to  a  husband  are  often  taken  up  with 
mere  domestic  details.  No  shade  of  doubt  crossed 
Harry's  mind  while  he  was  absent.  He  excused  to 
himself  Isabel's  omissions  by  the  probable  demands 
upon  her  time. 

On  his  return,  late  in  an  afternoon,  as  soon  as  he 
could  make  a  brief  report  to  Mr.  Dana  that  he  had 
successfully  accomplished  what  he  went  for,  he  flew  to 
the  Bradshaws'.  Isabel  was  at  home,  but  she  did  not 
come  down  until  some  time  after  the  servant  had  in- 
formed her  that  Mr.  Brewster  was  in  the  little  parlor. 
When  she  entered  the  room  he  sprang  to  meet  her 
and  to  fold  her  in  his  arms.  She  took  two  or  three 
steps  from  the  door,  and  then,  without  a  word  of  greet- 
ing, and  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  she  stood  motionless 
as  a  statue.  Harry  was  frightened.  She  looked  so 
vacant,  as  if  she  did  not  know  him,  as  if  consciousness 
and  recollection  had  gone  out  of  her.  He  closed  the 
door,  and,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  he  led  her  gently  to 
a  sofa,  as  one  would  lead  a  beloved  person  whose  mind 
had  gone  astray.  He  sat  at  her  feet,  and,  holding 
both  of  her  hands  in  his  own,  tried  to  look  into  her 
c       d  5 


50  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

eyes.  She  averted  them  from  his  gaze.  She  did  not 
appear  to  be  ill.  She  was  radiantly  beautiful,  but  oh, 
how  changed ! 

"  Good  heavens,  Isabel !"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the 
matter?  Why  do  you  not  look  at  me?  "VYhy  do  you 
not  speak  to  me?" 

There  was  no  answer.  After  a  long  silence,  her  hands 
passively  remaining  in  his,  without  the  slightest  return 
of  his  fond  pressure,  he  said,  "  Isabel,  have  your  feel- 
ings changed  ?  Strange  question  for  me  to  have  to  ask 
you, — do  you  love  me  ?" 

Her  eyes  closed, — her  lips  faltered  out,  "  I  do  not 
know." 

"  You  do  not  know  !  Did  you  know  whether  you 
loved  me  when  we  plighted  our  hearts  to  each  other  and 
your  father  gave  you  to  me  with  his  blessing?  Did 
you  know  whether  you  loved  me  when  you  gave  me 
that  parting  kiss  three  weeks  ago,  and  promised  to 
write  to  me  everyday?  What  has  happened?  Has 
any  malicious  tongue  been  busy  with  my  name  ?  Isa- 
bel, this  is  a  solemn  moment  for  both  of  us.  Our  lives 
are  this  instant  turning  on  your  answer  to  my  ques- 
tion,— do  you  love  me  f 

Mournfully,  and  with  a  hollow  sound,  the  same  words 
were  repeated,  ^^  I  do  not  know!''' 

Harry  rushed  from  the  house  and  shut  himself  up 
in  his  room.  He  walked  the  floor  through  nearly  the 
whole  night,  trying  to  find  some  solution  of  Isabel's 
strange  conduct.  Might  it  be  that  she  was  acting  a 
ruse,  and  that  when  she  had  played  it  out  she  would 
burst  upon  him  with  more  fondness  than  she  had  ever 
shown  ?  It  was  a  terribly  serious  piece  of  pleasantry, 
if  that  was  the  meaning  of  it.  That  answer,  "  I  do  not 
know,"— what  did  it  mean  ?  If  it  had  been  given  when 
he  first  declared  to  her  his  love,  he  would  have  known 
what  it  meant.  What  did  it  mean  now?  Did  it  mean 
that  she  wished  him  to  release  her  from  the  engage- 
ment ?     Who  could  tell  ? 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  morning  he  sent  for  me.  I 
had  known  him  since  we  were  little  boys.  I  had  known 
Isabel  much  longer  than  he  had.   I  had  often  lamented 


A   SUDDEN  DISASTER.  51 

the  kind  of  life  she  had  led  so  long,  but  when  she 
became  engaged  to  Harry,  I  thought,  as  'all  her  best 
friends  did,  that  she  was  now  to  escape  from  its  ill 
effects.  After  listening  to  what  he  had  to  tell  me,  I 
was  much  troubled  what  to  say  to  him.  It  was  a  seri- 
ous situation  for  me  to  have  to  advise  him,  for  I  was 
not  above  three  years  older  than  he,  though  I  had  seen 
rather  more  of  the  world.  I  soon  satisfied  myself  that 
it  was  not  jealousy  that  was  tormenting  him,  for,  on 
my  alluding  to  the  continued  attentions  from  other 
men  which  Isabel  seemed  to  permit,  his  lip  curled  with 
disdain  as  he  answered,  "  No,  Peter,  Isabel  is  not  a 

fool.     You  cannot  suppose  that  she Bah !  let  us 

think  of  something  else."  I  could  think  of  nothing 
that  would  explain  the  mystery.  I  could  onl}^  advise 
him  to  seek  a  conversation  with  Mrs.  Bradshaw  and 
her  eldest  daughter,  Mrs.  Perkins,  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  knew  Mrs.  Perkins  very  well,  and  I  offered  to  call  at 
her  house  and  request  her  to  be  at  her  mother's  that 
afternoon.  She  consented,  and  Harry,  as  I  learned 
afterwards,  had  the  interview  with  the  two  ladies 
which  I  suggested.  They  were  both  very  fond  of  him, 
and  it  was  a  painful  subject.  They  said  they  had  all 
noticed  a  great  change  in  Isabel,  but  they  knew  no 
cause  for  it.  They  did  not  believe  that  she  had  given 
to  another  what  belonged  to  him, — that  was  impos- 
sible. 

"  My  dear  Henry,"  said  Mrs.  Perkins,  "  wait  a  few 
days.  Something  may  occur  that  will  reveal  the  cause 
for  this  change  in  Isabel,  if  her  feelings  towards  you 
have  changed,  or  else  you  will  know  what  you  ought 
to  do." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  Mr.  Bradshaw  came 
in.  He,  too,  had  noticed  that  Isabel,  when  there  was 
no  one  but  the  family  present,  was  distrait,  moody,  and 
irritable.  He  did  not  understand  it.  '•  She  has  always 
been  like  a  ray  of  sunshine,"  he  said.  "  I  never  before 
knew  her  to  be  inconsiderate  of  the  feelings  of  any  one 
who  had  a  right  to  her  attention.  Wait  awhile,  Henrj'. 
This  may  blow  over.  Stay  to  tea,  and  appear  to  be  as 
little  concerned  as  you  can.     Fanny,  send  for  Mr.  Per- 


52  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

kins  to  come  and  help  us  through  the  evening.  Give 
orders,  my  dear,  that  the  drawing-room  is  not  to  be 
open  and  that  we  are  not  receiving." 

Mrs.  Bradshaw  did  as  her  husband  desired.  Harry 
remained  to  tea.  Mr.  Perkins  came,  and  before  tea 
was  announced  his  wife  managed  to  let  him  know  why 
he  had  been  sent  for.  Isabel  was  at  the  tea-table,  silent, 
listless.  She  never  once  looked  at  Harry.  Mr.  Perkins 
did  his  best  to  keep  up  conversation,  trying  to  make 
Harry  talk  about  his  journey.  Mr.  Bradshaw  said  very 
little.  Mrs.  Bradshaw  could  scarcely  conceal  her  grief. 
Mrs.  Perkins's  thoughts  ran  quickly  forward  to  the 
consequences  of  a  broken  engagement.  She  was  a 
woman  of  high  principle,  and  she  foresaw  the  censure 
with  which  Isabel  would  be  visited  if  this  was  to  be 
the  end.  But  if  the  engagement  was  to  be  broken, 
how  was  the  breach  to  be  brought  about  and  how  was 
it  to  be  made  known  ? 

When  they  rose  from  the  tea-table  Harry  left  the 
house  without  attempting  to  speak  to  Isabel.  He 
excused  himself  to  Mrs.  Bradshaw,  who  Avas,  for  the 
first  time  since  she  had  known  him,  not  sorry  to  have 
him  say  good-night.  As  he  was  passing  Mrs.  Perkins 
she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and  whispered,  "  Do 
nothing  hastily.     You  know  what  we  feel  for  you." 

You  think  that  I  ought  to  have  some  explanation  of 
Isabel's  conduct  ready  to  be  produced.  I  am  obliged 
to  tell  you  that  I  have  none.  I  never  understood  it, 
and  I  never  heard  that  any  one  else  knew  how  to 
explain  it.  I  can  only  say  that  I  have  known  love  to 
die ;  sometimes  it  has  died  slowly  and  lingeringly,  some- 
times suddenly.  Did  Isabella  Bradshav^^'s  love  die,  or 
did  it  never  live  ?  I  would  tell  if  I  knew,  but  I  do  not. 
I  know  that  the  little  god  who  shot  his  arrow  into 
Henry  Brewster's  heart  seemed  for  a  time  to  be  a  very 
strong  cherub  with  an  immortal  life. 

Harry  had  been  treated  so  kindly  by  the  Bradshaw 
family,  he  was  so  much  on  the  footing  of  a  son,  Mr. 
Bradshaw  was  so  proud  of  him,  that  he  could  not  at 
once  leave  off  going  to  the  house.  But  what  was  he 
to  do  ?     He  could  do  nothing  but  put  himself  for  a  few 


A   SUDDEN  DISASTER.  53 

duys  Ioniser  in  Isabel's  way,  so  that  she  might  manifest 
some  desire  to  explain  her  conduct.  He  was  every 
evening  at  the  house  for  just  three  days  more,  but 
Isabel  never  spoke  to  him.  What  could  be  the  mean- 
ing of  this?  Did  she  consider  that  after  that  answer 
— -"'•  I  do  not  know" — it  was  for  him  to  release  her 
from  their  engagement  ?  Did  she  wish  to  be  released  ? 
Who  could  tell?  Her  father,  according  to  his  resolute 
character,  deeply  grieved  as  he  was,  seeing  that  she 
made  no  sign  of  any  wish  to  explain  herself  to  Harry, 
took  matters  into  his  own  hands.  He  told  Harry  that 
he  considered  Isabel's  conduct  as  perfectly  incompre- 
hensible, but  he  did  not  think  that,  after  what  had  oc- 
curred, the  engagement  should  continue  another  day. 
"  I  part  from  you,"  he  said,  '•  with  great  sorrow,  but  I 
feel  bound  to  say  to  you  that  I  do  not  believe  Isabel 
loves  you.  I  am  in  need  of  your  pardon  for  having 
permitted  myself  to  believe  that  she  did.  But  I  think 
you  will  understand  how  a  father  should  have  allowed 
his  hopes  for  his  child  to  become  a  belief." 

This  was  almost  too  much  for  poor  Harry.  It  added 
to  the  bitterness  of  the  dreadful  discovery.  But  had 
there  been  a  discovery  ?  '•  The  point  of  honor,  sir,  is 
easily  solved,"  he  said,  with  deep  emotion  ;  "  I  can  with 
propriety  be  the  one  to  say  this  engagement  is  broken  ; 
but  is  it  your  opinion  that  I  ought  to  wait  no  further 
developments,  that  no  more  time  should  be  allowed  for 

Isabel  to  assign  some  reason "     He  could  not  go 

on.     Hope  was  struggling  against  pride. 

"I  must  counsel  you,"  said  the  distressed  father,  "as 
I  would  if  you  were  my  son  and  Isabel  were  not  my 
daughter.  I  will  not  have  you  degraded,  and  any  young 
man  in  your  situation  may  seem  degraded  if  he  has 
to  bear  such  treatment  from  the  w^oman  who  has  ex- 
changed her  vows  for  his  without  any  explanation  or 
one  word  of  regret.  I  do  not  see  any  prospect  that 
the  explanation  will  come.  If  you  consent,  I  shall  say 
to  Isabel  that  this  engagement  is  ended,  and  shall  make 
known  that  it  is  so,  as  far  as  may  be  necessary." 

Ah,  what  disaster  is  there  in  life  that  can  equal  this  ? 
To  have  loved,  deeply,  passionately  ;  to  have  trusted  ; 


54  JOHN   CHARAXES. 

to  have  had  every  reason  for  that  trust ;  to  have  the 
cup  of  happiness  dashed  suddenly  to  the  ground,  and 
to  know  no  reason  why  this  hlank  in  one's  existence 
has  come, — this  is  a  fate  that  may  darken  the  soul 
more  fearfully  than  all  other  calamities.  I  should, 
however,  fail  to  give  a  right  idea  of  my  early  friend  if 
I  did  not  enable  you  to  see  that,  while  he  was  a  person 
who  would  suffer  to  the  point  of  extreme  danger,  he 
was  yet  a  man  of  sufficient  strength  not  to  be  utterly 
ruined.  What  he  had  to  do  was  to  determine  whether 
he  could  remain  in  Boston  and  be  pointed  at  as  the 
young  fellow  who  had  been  jilted  by  a  girl  of  whom 
rather  more  than  half  of  society  had  made  very  un- 
favorable prognostications,  or  whether  he  should  go 
away.  Whether  he  remained  or  went,  he  would  be 
talked  about  for  a  long  time.  He  had  the  sensitiveness 
that  belongs  to  proud  and  lofty  natures,  whose  feelings 
are  deep  and  serious.  Since  he  had  become  engaged  to 
Isabel  his  circle  of  acquaintance  had  been  much  in- 
creased. There  had  been  some  dinner-parties  made 
expressly  for  them,  and  in  all  the  houses  where  he  had 
visited  he  had  been  very  much  liked.  He  could  not 
endure  to  be  compassionated  by  people  who  would 
mean  to  be  kind,  or  to  be  laughed  at  by  people  who,  if 
not  malicious,  would  be  flippant  and  careless.  He 
must  go  away  and  make  for  himself  such  new  and  less 
miserable  existence  as  might  come  to  him  elsewhere. 
It  would  be  better,  too,  for  Isabel,  if  he  were  where 
they  could  not  possibly  meet.  To  meet  as  strangers  or 
common  acquaintances  was  a  thought  that  he  could 
not  bear.  Harry's  resolution  was  soon  taken.  But 
he  could  not  leave  Mr.  Dana  without  some  explanation, 
or  without  closing  the  part  of  their  joint  business  in 
which  he  had  been  so  useful.  When  he  had  mentioned 
his  purpose  and  asked  to  have  a  time  lixed  for  dissolv- 
ing their  connection,  Mr.  Dana  said,  "I  feel  for  you 
most  sincerely,  but  there  are  as  good  fish  in  the  sea 
as  ever  were  caught.  Give  yourself  time,  my  young 
friend;  the  wound  that  is  now  so  painful  will  be  healed." 
I  am  sure  no  one  will  dispute  the  truth  of  that 
famous  saying,  which  is  always  offered  as  consolation 


A  SUDDEN  DISASTER.     '  55 

in  sorrows  of  this  kind.  No  one  ever  drew,  by  line  or 
net,  from  the  vast  ocean  in  whicti  disport  the  innumer- 
able inhabitants  of  the  deep,  a  single  specimen  that  did 
not  leave  millions  of  its  peers  in  all  the  qualities  and 
beauties  of  its  most  perfect  individuals.  What  is  one 
woman,  be  she  as  beautiful  and  lovely  as  a  woman  can 
be,  to  the  great  multitude  of  those  in  whom  can  at  least 
be  found  that  which  will  take  the  place  of  what  has 
been  lost  ?  Yet,  what  young  man  of  Harry  Brewster's 
moral  fibre  ever  suffered,  as  he  now  had  to  suffer,  who 
could,  in  the  midst  of  his  desolation,  think  of  a  possible 
substitute  ?  If  there  comes  a  time  when  there  can  be 
a  second  love,  it  is  not  until  the  whole  man  is  so  changed 
that  he  scarcely  knows  his  former  self,  and  even  then,  as  I 
have  said,  there  does  not  come  the  same  supreme  felicity. 

Harry  convinced  his  kind  friend  and  partner  that  it 
was  best  for  him  to  go  away.  He  asked  and  received 
Mr.  Dana's  promise  not  to  inquire  of  him  his  destina- 
tion. In  fact,  he  did  not  know  where  he  should  finally 
find  an  abiding-place.  He  meant  to  seek  one  in  the 
great  West.  He  could  tell  Mr.  Dana  nothing  more. 
It  was  arranged  between  them  that  if  Mr.  Bradshaw 
asked  any  questions,  Mr.  Dana  should  be  able  to  say 
that  he  knew  nothing  excepting  that  Harry  had  not 
left  his  country.  There  was  the  same  understanding 
with  me.  Mr.  Dana  made  all  the  business  arrange- 
ments that  were  necessary.  Harry  owed  no  debts  that 
could  not  be  at  once  discharged,  and  when  he  parted 
from  Mr.  Dana  that  gentleman  placed  in  his  hands  a 
sum  of  money  that  fairly  represented  his  earnings,  and 
which  would  pay  the  expenses  of  his  journey  and  main- 
tain him  for  some  time.  He  did  not  see  Mr.  Bradshaw 
again  before  his  departure.  I  was  the  only  one  of  his 
friends  who  saw  him  take  the  train  on  the  railroad 
which  then  extended  no  farther  than  Worcester.  The 
rest  of  his  journey  would  have  to  be  made  to  Albany 
or  beyond  by  stage-coach. 

He  could  not  go  away  without  bidding  Mrs.  Perkins 
farewell.  He  was  calm,  collected,  not  excited  at  all, 
when  he  told  her  that  he  should,  in  all  probability, 
never  see  her  ao;ain. 


56  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

"  Henr}',"  she  said,  "  we  have  all  become  attached  to 
you.  Mj^  heart  is  almost  broken.  I  shall  never  forget 
you,  never  cease  to  pray  for  your  welfare.  You  have 
had  my  entire  confidence, — my  husband's,  too." 

She  stopped,  for  her  tears  would  not  let  her  go  on. 
She  regained  her  composure  after  a  little  while,  and 
then  said,  "My  father  told  me  what  he  had  determined 
about  the  engagement,  but  he  did  not  tell  me  that  you. 
mean  to  leave  Boston.     Is  this  necessary  ?" 

'•  Yes,  Fanny,  it  is.  I  have  made  known  my  in- 
tention to  no  one  but  Mr.  Dana,  Peter  Boj^lston,  and 
yourself  ISTone  of  you,  I  hope,  will  try  to  learn  any- 
thing about  me.  It  is  best — it  is  best — it  will  be  bet- 
ter for  Isabel  that  I  shall  be  henceforth  unknown." 

"Will  you  not  see  my  mother,  Henry?" 

"]N"o,  I  think  not.  I  know  how  she  feels  towards 
me.  I  am  very  grateful  to  her,  to  you  all,  but  I  will 
not  try  her  maternal  heart.     She  will  have  much   to 

do  for "     He  could  not  go  on.    He  did  not  mean  to 

break  down  if  he  could  help  it. 

Mrs.  Perkins  followed  him  to  the  outer  door:  "  Fare- 
well, farewell,  dear  Henry;  I  cannot  promise  you  that 
I  shall  not  try  to  learn  about  you.  I  shall  expect  to 
hear  that  you  have  made  for  yourself  a  name  and  a  life. 
A  young  man  of  your  powers  and  your  character  is  not 
going  to  be  destroyed  by  one  sorrow,  great  as  it  may 
be.  You  have  one  consolation,  at  least,  for  you  have 
nothing  to  reproach  yourself  with, — nothing  whatever." 

A  woman's  instinct  in  such  cases  is  much  finer  than 
a  man's.  Mrs.  Perkins  did  not  remind  Henry  that 
the  world  is  full  of  lovely  girls,  or  repeat  to  him  any 
of  the  wise  sayings  that  are  usually  quoted  in  such 
cases.  It  soothed  his  proud  heart  to  have  the  sym- 
pathy of  such  a  woman.  But,  ah!  where  was  she 
w^ho  ought  to  have  thrown  herself  at  his  feet  and  im- 
plored his  forgiveness?  Had  he  done  right  in  leav- 
ing her  without  making  one  more  effort  to  unseal  her 
lips  before  it  should  be  known  that  thej^  were  forever 
separated  ?  It  was  a  terrible  struggle ;  I  could  see  it 
as  I  watched  him  in  the  few  last  hours  before  he  de- 
parted on  his  unknown  way.     Ho  sternly  put   down 


A   SUDDEN  DISASTER.  57 

every  doubt,  and  went,  as  he  had  determined  to  go, 
without  seeing  Isabel  again.  When  the  gulf  had  come 
between  them  they  would  meet,  if  they  met  at  all, 
as  strangers.  Did  you  ever  see  a  husband  and  wife 
who  had  been  divorced  unexpectedly  find  themselves  in 
each  other's  presence  ?  I  once  knew  a  gentleman,  who 
was  in  that  situation,  accidentally  enter  a  room  where 
his  former  wife  was  sitting  alone,  waiting  for  a  friend. 
I  heard  that  there  was  a  bow,  a  formal  conversation, 
an  attempt  to  talk  about  the  weather,  the  opera,  etc.j 
and  that,  after  an  effort  to  endure  the  strain,  the  poor 
lady  fell  to  the  floor  in  a  fainting  fit.  The  gentleman 
had  to  ring  the  bell,  call  for  assistance,  and  explain  his 
presence.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  situa- 
tion of  divorced  persons,  where  there  has  been  no  seri- 
ous criminality  on  either  side,  is  most  deplorable. 

Do  not  say  that  Brewster  was  too  proud— that  he 
was  weak — in  taking  so  seriously  such  a  termination 
of  such  a  happiness.  He  was  a  man  of  deep  feel- 
ings, tender  sensibilities,  and  a  just  self-respect.  Do 
not  these  traits  explain  it  all  ?  Perhaps  there  ought  to 
be  some  power — some  Deus  ex  machina — to  interpose 
and  reconcile  all  lovers'  quarrels.  But  there  are  cases 
where  Cupid,  who  has  brought  the  parties  together, 
seems  powerless  to  prevent  a  separation.  \Yhat  was 
the  secret  cause  of  Isabel's  conduct?  I  have  already 
said  that  I  do  not  know, — that  she  alone  could  tell,  and 
that  she  did  not  choose  to  do  so. 

At  first,  Henry  thought  of  changing  his  name.  But 
he  rejected  this  plan  as  unmanly  and  as  disloyal  to  his 
dead  parents  and  his  living  sister.  The  latter  he  tried 
to  write  to,  but  he  thought  it  best  to  visit  her  at  Troy, 
and  to  tell  her  in  person  his  melancholy  story.  I  shall 
follow  hini  no  farther  in  his  wanderings  than  the  in- 
terview with  her  whose  love  and  sympathy  seemed  to 
him  to  be  all  that  now  remained  to  him  in  the  world. 
But  before  they  meet  I  must  tell  you  something  about 
Elizabeth  Brewster. 

_  At  the  lime  of  Harry's  unfortunate  love-aifair  his 
sister  Ehzabeth  was  at  the  age  of  thirty-five.  We,  who 
were  so  much  younger,  had,  from  our  boyhood  or  girl- 


58  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

hood,  always  regarded  her  as  one  of  the  most  admir- 
able women  that  ever  lived.  Whatever  Miss  Brewster 
said  or  did  was  with  good  reason  accepted  as  absolutely- 
right  in  the  little  world  of  our  native  town.  I  have 
now  lived  a  long  life,  and  have  had  much  intercourse 
with  superior  men  and  women ;  but  I  have  never 
known  a  woman  who  was  so  wise  as  Elizabeth  Brews- 
ter and  who  was  at  the  same  time  so  gentle.  In  her 
young  days  she  had  profited  greatly  by  her  father's 
scholarship  ;  and  when  he  had  pupils,  as  he  often  did, 
her  knowledge  of  G-reek  and  Latin  and  some  of  the 
sciences  enabled  her  to  be  of  great  service  to  him.  Boys 
who  were  fitted  for  college  at  Dr.  Brewster's  always 
passed  good  examinations,  and  they  owed  it  to  his 
daughter  that  they  did  so.  Nor  were  her  more  strictly 
feminine  accomplishments  less  remarkable  than  her 
learning.  It  often  happens  that  learned  women  are  not 
gifted  with  the  power  to  be  useful  in  household  affairs, 
or  do  not  have  taste  for  them  if  they  have  the  capacity. 
Miss  Brewster  was  as  good  a  housekeeper  as  she  could 
have  been  if  she  had  never  read  a  line  of  Homer  or 
Yirgil,  or  explained  a  problem  in  Euclid.  But  there 
was  an  occurrence  in  her  life  which  made  her,  to  all 
her  friends  and  to  many  who  knew  her  only  by  repute, 
the  object  of  an  interest  almost  amounting  to  venera- 
tion. At  the  age  of  twenty  she  became  engaged  to 
be  married  to  a  young  man  of  the  most  extraordinary 
promise,  of  whose  career  the  highest  hopes  and  ex- 
pectations had  been  formed,  and  whose  early  death 
continued  for  a  full  generation  to  be  one  of  the  saddest 
of  the  memories  that  clustered  around  old  Harvard. 
Among  that  generation  this  ladj-'s  name  was  never 
mentioned  without  being  coupled  with  that  of  the  bril- 
liant lover  whom  she  had  lost.  Her  life  was  saddened, 
but  it  was  not  darkened.  She  lived  for  others  after  he. 
who  had  been  taken  from  her  and  from  the  world  was 
no  more.  In  person,  Miss  Brewster  was  tall  and  grace- 
ful. She  had  not  been  accotmted  beautiful,  in  the  way 
that  beauty  is  most  often  spoken  of,  but  her  features 
were  regular  and  her  countenance  was  one  of  great 
sweetness  and  marked  inteUisence.     This  is  often  the 


A  SUDDEN  DISASTER.  59 

most  lasting  kind  of  beauty,  and  it  continued  with 
Elizabeth  Brewster  to  the  end  of  her  days. 

When  Harry  had  given  to  his  sister  an  outline  of  his 
story,  she  did  not  try  to  console  him  with  the  common- 
places usually  uttered  to  young  men  in  such  unfortu- 
nate circumstances.  She  knew  his  nature  too  well,  and 
she  was  too  correct  in  her  judgments,  to  imagine  that 
she  could  do  him  any  good  by  leading  him  to  think 
that  in  the  almost  infinite  chances  of  life  he  woukl  meet 
with  some  other  woman  whom  he  could  love.  Sympa- 
thy, silent  sympathy,  or  that  which  is  not  often  spoken, 
and  a  helping  hand,  she  thought  the  best  medicines  for 
such  a  malady.  The  first  thing  she  said  to  him  relieved 
him  on  a  point  about  which  he  had  ahnost  feared  to 
ask  her. 

"  I  will  come  to  you,  dear,"  she  said,  "  whenever  you 
inform  me  that  you  are  settled,  and  we  will  live  to- 
gether. I  can  in  the  meantime  arrange  to  give  up  my 
situation  here.  "VYe  two  are  very  much  alone  in  the 
world,  and  we  must  never  again  be  separated.  But  you 
will  find,  Henry,  that  occupation,  occupation  as  soon 
as  you  can  get  it,  is  your  greatest  want,  and  will  be 
your  greatest  help.  Lose  no  more  time  in  making 
a  selection  of  a  place  of  abode  than  is  necessary  to 
make  it  safely.  I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  of  much  con- 
sequence whether  it  is  a  large  or  a  small  community. 
The  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  place  yourself  where  you 
can  at  once  find  work  in  your  profession." 

Harry  endeavored  to  talk  about  Isabel,  and  he  was 
beginning  to  ask  his  sister  if  she  thought  he  had  done 
right  in  leaving  her,  and  whether  she  could  see  any 
explanation  of  such  an  inconsistency  as  a  whole  month 
or  more  of  devoted  love  and  then  the  sudden  and  ex- 
traordinary change. 

"  Having  never  seen  Miss  Bradshaw,"  she  answered, 
"  I  can  form  no  opinion  of  the  cause  or  the  process  of 
such  a  change.  But,  my  dear  brother,  why  distress 
yourself  with  asking  whether  you  could  have  done  any- 
thing to  discover  what  is  so  mysterious  ?  It  is  best  for 
you  that  it  should  remain  a  mystery.  If  you  should 
reach  something  that  appears  to  you  to  be  an  explana- 


60  JOHN   CHARAxES. 

tion,  you  would  find  no  comfort  in  it.  Possibly,  her 
father  hit  the  truth, — that  she  did  not  love  you.  If  so, 
her  fault  was  that  she  did  not  tell  you  so  until  it  was 
too  late." 

Miss  Brewster  could  not  bear  to  speak  more  plainly 
of  the  wrong  which  Isabel  had  committed.  Harry's 
love  was  not  yet  dead ;  his  sister  saw  the  struggle. 

"  But,  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  "  she  had  given  me  every 
proof  of  her  love  tliat  a  woman  could  give.  Her  father 
was  in  error  if  he  meant  to  say  that  she  never  had 
loved  me.  I  should  as  soon  doubt  my  existence.  Isabel 
never  meant  to  deceive  me ;  I  do  not  believe  she  de- 
ceived herself.  She  certainly  did  love  me,  but  she  sud- 
denly ceased  to  feel  as  she  had  done,  and  I  am  without 
any  means  of  knowing  why." 

"  Let  it  rest  so,"  Miss  Brewster  said.  "  You  can  do 
yourself  no  good  by  trying  to  understand  it.  You  can 
never  marry  her.  Whether  your  supposition  is  correct 
or  her  father's  is  the  right  one,  you  two  can  never 
meet  again.  There  would  be  nothing  to  build  upon. 
But  let  us  talk  no  more  about  what  is  inexplicable, 
I  will  only  say  that  my  own  experience  teaches  me  that 
I  can  help  you.  The  full  fruition  of  my  love  in  this 
life  was  denied  to  me  by  an  all- wise  God.  I  look  for  a 
reunion  beyond  the  grave.  I  can  therefore  think  of 
my  loss  without  repining.  You  have  not  this  consola- 
tion ;  and  therefore  you  should  brace  yourself  for  the 
duties  of  life,  thinking  as  little  as  you  can  of  3'our  loss, 
and  lay  j^ourself  open  to  everj^thing  that  my  sympa- 
thies and  services  can  do  for  you.  They  will  never  be 
wanting  while  I  live." 

Harry  pressed  her  to  his  bosom,  and  gratefully 
promised  to  obey  her.  The  light  of  a  wisdom  that 
rarely  erred,  of  a  sister's  love  that  knows  no  variance, 
and  a  hope  which  came  from  a  steady  faith  that  what- 
ever is  is  best  for  us,  shone  from  her  gentle  eyes  as  she 
bade  him  farewell. 

And  now  he  goes  forth  alone  towards  the  boundless 
West,  to  discover  some  resting-place,  where  he  can  find 
both  rest  and  work.  I  shall  not  describe  his  wander- 
ings.    In  those  days  it  was  not  so  difficult  as  it  would 


A  SUDDEN  DISASTER.  61 

be  now  for  a  man  to  travel  through  this  great  country 
unobserved  and  without  having  his  movements  reported 
or  traced  by  any  one  who  wished  to  look  him  up. 
Harry's  name  must  be  on  hotel  registers,  it  is  true ; 
but  the  newspaper  press  was  not  what  it  is  now.'  In 
Boston,  although  this  extraordinary  termination  of  his 
engagement  continued  to  be  talked  of  for  a  long  time, 
and  people  wondered  what  had  become  of  him,  the 
newspapers  did  not  refer  to  it.  Mr.  Bradshaw  was  not 
waited  upon  by  reporters  and  plied  with  impertinent 
questions  about  his  family  affairs.  He  was  informed 
by  me  in  general  terms  that  Harry  had  gone  to  the 
West,  and  that  he  relied  on  the  honor  of  Mr.  Dana  and 
myself  to  say  nothing  more  on  the  subject,  and  not  to 
endeavor  to  discover  his  whereabouts.  Mr.  Bradshaw 
said  that  he  was  glad  Harry  had  not  left  the  country. 
"  Talent,"  he  added,  "  industry,  and  character  will  make 
their  way."  So  it  happened  that  Harry's  wish  not  to 
be  traced  suffered  no  disappointment ;  and  now  we  will 
leave  him  in  that  weary  search. 

"  Oh,  birds  from  out  the  East,  oh,  birds  from  out  the  West, 
Have  you  found  that  happy  city  in  all  your  weary  quest  ? 
Tell  me,  tell  me  from  earth's  wand'ring  may  the  heart  find 

glad  surcease? 
Can  ye  show  me  as  an  earnest  any  olive-branch  of  peace  ? 
I  am  weary  of  life's  travels,  its  sin  and  toil  and  care, 
I  am  faithless,  crushing  in  my  heart  so  many  a  fruitless  prayer. " 

And  how  was  it  with  Isabel  ?  Did  she  droop,  and 
pine,  and  mourn,  and  reflect  ?  Had  she  no  hours  of 
self-accusation,  and  did  she  make  no  efforts  to  learn 
what  had  become  of  Harry?  Did  she  think  of  him  as 
a  worn  and  weary  wanderer,  the  light  of  his  life  extin- 
guished, his  heart  yearning  for  what  she  had  once  given 
him  so  freely,  his  voice  calling  to  her  in  the  night,  "  Isa- 
bel, oh,  Isabel,  why  have  you  done  this  ?"  She  did  not 
know  of  the  strength  that  a  sister's  love  had  awakened 
in  him.  If  she  thought  of  him  at  all,  she  ought  to  have 
pictured  to  herself  his  despair  and  desolation. 

I  did  not  see  her  for  a  long  time  after  his  departure. 
She  could  have  no  means  of  learning  anything  about 
him  excepting  from  me,  and  I  did  not  choose  to  have 

6 


62  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

her  ask  me  a  question,  even  if  she  had  the  wish  or  the 
fortitude  to  ask  it.  But  I  did  not  cease  to  think  of  this 
strange  episode  in  the  life  of  ray  early  friend,  who  de- 
served, if  ever  a  man  deserved,  all  the  happiness  that 
for  a  short  time  he  believed  he  had  found,  and  that 
promised  to  be  as  enduring  as  his  life.  At  the  end  of 
six  months  after  Harry  had  left  Boston,  I  called  again 
at  the  Bradshaws'  several  times.  There  now  lies  before 
me  a  letter  that  I  then  wrote  to  the  dear  girl  who  in 
our  native  village  was  making  up  her  father's  accounts 
and  endeavoring  to  ascertain  which  of  his  patients,  at 
the  end  of  the  half-year  then  expiring,  would  do  by  him 
as  they  would  be  done  by.  He  had  done  a  great  deal  for 
them,  and  generally  with  the  best  results.  I  have  her  an- 
swer, too ;  and  I  shall  make  an  extract  from  both  letters. 

"  Although  you  never  saw  Miss  Isabel  Bradshaw,  your 
woman's  instinct  will  perhaps  be  able  to  suggest  some 
explanation  of  her  conduct  to  Harry.  I  have  written 
to  you  before  full  details  of  his  courtship,  their  engage- 
ment, its  happiness  for  both  of  them  through  a  period 
of  nearly  five  weeks,  and  its  sudden  end.  AYhat  I  told 
you  about  her  demeanor  when  Harry  returned  after  an 
absence  of  about  ten  days  I  had  from  himself  Now, 
tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  whole  affair.  Having 
lately  learned  that  Isabel  had  resumed  her  old  life,  and 
was  again  surrounded  by  admirers,  I  have  been  several 
times  at  the  Bradshaws'  in  the  evening.  She  avoids 
any  separate  conversation  with  me.  She  is  polite,  but 
does  not  seem  to  wish  to  talk  to  me.  To  other  men 
she  is  rather  bitter  and  sarcastic.  I  cannot  divine  what 
will  become  of  her.  She  is  as  beautiful  as  ever.  I  be- 
lieve she  does  not  go  out  much,  but  she  sees  as  many 
gentlemen  as  she  ever  did.  I  wish  it  were  possible  to 
do  something  for  her.  She  has  many  excellent  quali- 
ties, really  good  traits  of  character,  as  well  as  the  gift 
of  great  beauty  and  fine  intelligence.  She  is  more  of 
a  puzzle  to  me  than  ever." 

"  I  am  not  surprised,  my  dear  Peter,  by  what  you 
tell  me  about  Miss  Bradshaw.     But  as  to  understand- 


A  SUDDEN  DISASTER.  63 

ing  such  a  girl, — one,  too,  whom  I  never  saw, — I  should 
as  soon  think,  to  borrow  a  phrase  from  my  father's  vo- 
cabulary, of  making  a  diagnosis  of  a  disorder  of  a  very 
uncommon  kind  without  seeing  the  patient.  The  de- 
tails of  the  case  that  you  gave  me  when  it  occurred  do 
not  help  me  at  all.  But  I  will  drop  the  '  shop'  and 
come  to  the  pyschology  of  this  case  of  your  fair  friend. 
The  question  whether  she  ever  loved  Henry  Brewster, 
or  how  her  conduct  is  to  be  explained,  supposing  either 
that  she  did  or  did  not  love  him,  makes  two  problems 
that  no  other  woman's  feminine  instinct,  as  you  call  it, 
will  be  likely  to  solve.  Miss  Bradshaw  herself  could 
solve  both  of  them  if  she  chose,  but  it  seems  she  does 
not  choose.  I  advise  you  not  to  speculate  about  it  any 
more.  She  will  probably  make  an  unfortunate  mar- 
riage, and  be  a  miserable  woman.  Her  life  must  be 
embittered  by  the  memory  of  what  she  has  lost  and 
what  she  has  done.  In  regard  to  your  visits  there,  I 
am  not  a  bit  afraid  of  your  becoming  too  much  inter- 
ested in  her.  If  it  affords  you  any  amusement  to  see 
how  she  goes  on,  you  have  my  free  permission  to  go 
there  as  much  as  you  like.  I  am  afraid  that  you  do 
not  give  yourself  too  much  amusement  of  any  kind. 
But  I  am  quite  sure  that  you  can  do  her  no  good,  or 
exercise  any  influence  over  her  fate.  I  feel  very  sorry 
for  her,  because  I  trust  your  judgment  that  she  has 
good  qualities  as  well  as  extraordinary  attractions. 
When  are  you  coming  to  see  me?  Your  new  slippers 
are  nearly  done,  but  I  am  half  inclined  to  make  you 
come  for  them  for  yourself,  and  not  to  send  them." 

I  had,  even  at  this  early  period,  formed  the  habit  of 
acting  on  the  advice  of  the  writer  of  the  last  extract, 
and  have  followed  it  all  my  life  since,  in  great  and  little 
matters,  without  finding  myself  misled.  I  gave  up  the 
idea  of  doing  Isabel  any  good,  but  I  did  not  cease  to 
learn  everything  about  her  that  I  could.  I  am  able, 
therefore,  to  continue  the  narrative  of  her  life,  and  to 
give  a  correct  account  of  the  marriage  that  she  really 
did  make  not  long  after  I  received  the  letter  last 
quoted. 


64  JOHN  charAxes. 

CHAPTEE  lY. 

A   SUDDEN   MARRIAGE. 

About  seven  or  eight  months  after  Henry  Brewster 
disappeared  from  Boston  there  was  left  one  day  at  Mr. 
Bradshaw's  house  a  card  which  bore  the  name  "  Lionel 
Gascoigne,  F.  O."  On  the  corner  was  pencilled  "  Tre- 
mont  House."  A  letter  of  introduction  accompanied 
the  card,  addressed  to  Mr.  Bradshaw  by  one  of  his  New 
York  correspondents,  informing  him  that  the  bearer 
was  an  English  gentleman  who  had  lately  been  in 
Washington  on  some  diplomatic  business,  and  asking 
for  him  Mr.  Bradshaw's  well-known  hospitality.  The 
writer  of  the  letter  also  addressed  a  note  to  Mr.  Brad- 
shaw by  the  mail,  informing  him  that  Mr.  Gascoigne 
belonged  to  a  very  old  family,  and  that  his  father  was 
an  earl.  It  was  understood  in  !N'ew  York  that  he  was 
not  the  eldest  son. 

The  occasion  of  this  young  Englishman's  visit  to 
America  is  easily  explained.  The  British  govern- 
ment of  that  time  wished  to  communicate  with  their 
minister  in  Washington  by  a  special  messenger,  who 
could  explain  orally  some  things  about  which  they  did. 
not  wish  to  leave  a  record  in  despatches  that  might  be 
called  for  in  Parliament.  It  was  an  errand  that  re- 
quired a  person  who  had  been  for  some  time  in  the 
Foreign  Office,  and  Gascoigne  was  selected  from  among 
the  junior  clerks  as  the  one  best  fitted  for  the  service. 
After  he  had  completed  the  business  for  which  he  came 
to  Washington  he  visited  some  of  our  principal  cities, 
and  was  well  received  in  their  social  circles.  He  had 
heard  a  good  deal  about  the  beauty  of  American  women 
before  he  left  England ;  and  as  he  was  unmarried  and 
had  likewise  heard  something  of  the  liberality  of  rich 
American  fathers,  he  very  naturally  thought  it  might 
be  a  good  thing  to  carry  home  some  American  girl  on 
whom  paternal  liberality  would  perhaps  be  exercised. 


A  SUDDEN  MARRIAGE.  65 

It  must  not  be  inferred,  however,  that  he  was  a  fortune- 
hunter.  He  merely  thought  that  if  he  were  to  meet 
and  fall  in  love  with  some  girl  who  might  be  disposed 
to  marry  him,  it  would  not  be  a  bad  thing  if  her  father 
had  mone}^  or  if  she  had  some  in  her  own  right.  What 
he  had  to  offer  may  be  summed  up  in  good  looks,  after 
the  English  type,  manners  which  evinced  good  breeding 
of.the  British  stamp,  a  fair  prospect  of  official  promo- 
tion, and  his  very  ancient  birth.  He  had  not  found  the 
object  of  his  search — perhaps  it  is  hardly  fair  to  say 
that  he  was  engaged  in  a  search — when,  after  visiting 
Niagara,  he  came  to  Boston,  which  he  had  been  told 
was  the  most  English  of  all  the  American  cities,  and 
which  he  very  properly  wished  to  see. 

Mr.  Bradshaw,  on  calling  upon  this  stranger,  found  a 
young  man  of  eight-and-twenty  or  thereabouts,  who 
was  what  I  have  sufficiently  described,  and  was  prob- 
ably a  good  specimen  of  a  class  of  young  Englishmen 
put  into  official  life  through  family  influence.  Brad- 
shaw was  not  a  man  who  cared  about  birth  ;  and  when, 
according  to  his  invariable  custom,  he  invited  this  gen- 
tleman to  his  house,  he  was  not  thinking  of  providing 
his  daughter  with  a  successor  to  poor  Harry.  Isabel, 
it  is  true,  was  again  at  home  to  all  visitors ;  but  her 
father  did  not  suppose  that  she  would  ever  marry  a 
foreigner,  and  he  hoped  that  she  would  not  be  in  a 
hurry  to  marry  at  all.  But  he  did  not  know  much 
about  his  daughter's  state  of  mind,  and  her  mother  was 
still  less  able  to  understand  it.  For  my  part,  I  think 
it  would  have  been  well  if  Isabel  had  been  induced  to 
retire  from  all  society  for  quite  a  good  period  of  rest 
and  reflection.  She  did  not  understand  herself  Many 
girls  do  not  who  have  led  the  kind  of  life  which  she 
had  since  she  was  eighteen.  She  knew  too  well  her 
power  over  the  feelings  of  the  other  sex,  but,  excepting 
in  the  case  of  Henry  Brewster,  it  had  been  wasted  upon 
men  who  were  none  of  them  her  equals  intellectually, 
and  for  none  of  whom  did  she  ever  care.  But  a  long 
series  of  successive  flirtations,  or  a  concurrent  series  of 
such  affairs,  is  very  apt  to  make  a  girl  ignorant  of  her- 
self    AYhen  Isabel  had  so  unaccountably  made  Harry 


66  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

believe  that  she  did  not  love  him,  the  natural  solution 
of  her  conduct  that  would  have  occurred  to  most  persons 
would  have  been  that  she  did  not  know  her  own  mind. 
After  Harry  had  gone  from  her  forever,  if  she  could 
have  had  a  good  period  of  rest  from  every  kind  of  ex- 
citement, she  might  have  met  with  some  man  of  her 
own  country  who  was  superior  to  her  old  admirers, 
and  have  married  him  for  reasons  diiferent  from  those 
which  led  her  to  accept  Lionel  Gascoigne  after  a  short 
acquaintance,  if  not  for  better  ones.  She  was  young 
enough  to  wait  and  to  make  for  herself  a  new  and  a 
better  life.  Bat  she  gave  herself  no  interval  such  as 
she  needed.  The  brief  season  of  despair  which  followed 
her  conviction  that  Harry  was  lost  to  her — a  despair 
produced  hj  his  evident  determination  to  make  it  im- 
possible for  her  to  let  him  know  that  she  was  ready  to 
humble  herself  before  him  if  she  could  win  his  forgive- 
ness— was  succeeded  by  speculation  on  what  she  had 
better  do  and  a  survey  of  every  man  who  approached 
her.  She  could  not  bear  the  reproach  of  society, 
although  it  was  a  silent  reproach,  for  her  conduct  to 
Harry.  She  lived  in  constant,  although  unspoken, 
reproof  from  her  whole  family.  There  was  no  one 
capable  of  both  advising  and  consoling  her.  When 
Gascoigne  appeared  and  she  found  him  amiable  and 
agreeable,  and  learned  that  he  was  highly  connected 
and  had  a  career  before  him  in  his  own  country,  and 
then  that  he  was  in  love  with  her,  she  accepted  him, — 
I  own  this  as  my  belief,  but  I  own  it  reluctantly, — 
because  he  would  take  her  away  from  Boston.  She 
was  willing  to  trust  her  own  capacity  to  find  in  his  love 
a  substitute  for  the  one  that  she  had  squandered ;  and 
1  fear  this  was  all  the  answer  she  could  make  to  her- 
self, if  she  ever  asked  herself  whether  she  could  be 
such  a  wife  as  a  well-meaning  and  really  good  fellow 
ought  to  have  who  offered  to  her  a  great  deal  of  honest 
affection.  She  took  a  fearful  risk,  for  it  was  possible 
that  she  and  Henrj^  Brewster  might  meet  somewhere 
in  this  wide  world,  and  that  she  might  not  be  able  to 
control  herself 

In  this  mood,  after  matters  between  Lionel  and  her.- 


A  SUDDEN  MARRIAGE.  67 

self  had  been  arranged,  she  sought  a  conversation  with 
her  father,  who  she  well  knew  felt  deeply  the  disap- 
pointment that  she  had  caused  him.  She  wished  to 
prepare  him  for  Gaseoigne's  formal  application,  by  tell- 
ing him  just  how  she  felt.  "  I  know,  sir,"  she  began, 
"  that  you  were  angry  with  me,  perhaps  you  are  still, 
— because  I  did  not  marry — Henry  Brewster."  She 
hesitated,  blushed,  and  trembled  when  she  pronounced 
the  name,  which  she  could  not  do  without  emotion. 
Her  father  did  not  speak.  After  a  little  while  she  re- 
covered herself  and  went  on :  "  All  that,  my  dear  sir,. 
is  now  over.  We  none  of  us  know  what  has  become 
of  Mr.  Brewster.  He  has  taken  the  most  effectual 
means  to  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  seek  his  forgive- 
ness, if  I  wished  to  do  so.  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  marry  Mr.  Gascoigne,  and  have  promised  to  do  so 
if  you  will  give  your  consent  when  he  asks  for  it." 

Her  father  looked  at  her,  tenderly,  mournfully.  She 
sat  perfectly  still,  as  if  she  expected  his  assent.  At 
length,  speaking  very  slowly,  he  said,  "  My  child,  you 
are  old  enough  to  fix  your  own  lot  in  life,  but  have  you 
considered  what  it  will  be  to  leave  your  country  and 
the  home  of  your  childhood  and  go  among  strangers  ? 
I  will  not  say  a  word  about  the  past, — I  try  not  to 
think  of  it, — I  agree  with  you  that  Brewster  is  lost  to 
you  and  to  all  of  us.  But  do  you  know  that  this  young 
Englishman  can  place  you  in  a  position  where  you  can 
be  happy, — can  give  you  the  comforts  that  you  have 
been  accustomed  to  ?  Do  you  know  the  difference  be- 
tween an  American  and  an  English  husband?  Look 
at  your  sisters,  and  say  if  it  is  likely  that  any  foreigner 
could  have  been  to  either  of  them  what  her  husband 
is  and  what  every  American  woman  expects  in  a  hus- 
band. What  do  you  know  about  English  aristocratic 
life,  supposing  that  these  Gascoignes  are  the  best  of 
their  class?  Can  any  other  country  on  earth  be  to 
you  what  ours  is  ?  Do  you  expect  me  to  show  that  I 
especially  value  such  a  connection  ?" 

"I  know,"  said  Isabel,  "  hardly  anything  about  Eng- 
lish life  in  any  class  but  what  I  have  read  in  books,  and 
perhaps  they  are  not  to  be  trusted.     But  if  I  am  con- 


68  JOHN  CHAR  AXES. 

vinced  that  Mr.  Gascoigne  loves  me,  it  must  depend  on 
myself  whether  I  can  be  happy  as  his  wife.  I  do  not 
see  that  a  woman's  lot  in  life  ought  to  be  governed  by 
patriotic  feelings." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  her  father  replied,  "  but  a  difference 
of  manners,  of  modes  of  life,  of  the  structure  of  so- 
ciety,— above  all,  the  domestic  relations  of  husbands 
and  wives, — are  things  of  great  consequence  to.  any 
woman  who  is  asked  to  leave  her  own  land,  and  espe- 
cially to  every  American  woman  who  has  been  reared 
as  you  have.  I  make  no  question  that  Englishmen  of 
good  feelings  and  good  principles  are  good  husbands  to 
English  wives.  But  I  have  great  doubts  about  their 
being  the  best  husbands  for  American  women  like 
you." 

Mr.  Bradshaw  must  be  excused  for  his  intense  Amer- 
icanism.    It  was  the  strong  point  of  his  character. 

"  I  have  already  considered,"  said  Isabel,  "  nearly  all 
that  you  have  suggested,  but,  of  course,  your  greater 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  my  duty  to  so  kind  and 
indulgent  a  father  as  you  have  always  been  to  me  and 
to  all  of  us  ought  to  make  me  very  careful  in  what  I 
do.  But  I  must  tell  3'ou  that  I  am  willing  to  take  my 
chance  in  forming  this  connection.  I  am  confident 
Mr.  Gascoigne  does  not  wish  to  marry  me  for  the  sake 
of  5'our  money,  although  you  are  known  to  be  a  rich 
man.  He  is  not  mercenary,  and  I  do  not  expect  or 
wish  you  to  do  anything  to  show  that  you  particularly 
value  such  a  connection.  I  can  say  to  you  what  I  could 
not  say  to  any  one  else.  I  believe  that  I  have  always 
been  thought  to  have  some  good  looks.  I  ought  to  be- 
lieve,— and  it  is  not  vanity,  or,  if  it  is,  I  cannot  help  it, — 
I  can  believe  that  his  regard  for  me  has  been  influenced 
by  what  he  considers  my  beauty,  and  other  things 
that  he  thinks  he  has  found  in  me.  I  shall  not  ask  you 
for  money  to  compensate  him  for  the  love  that  he  prof- 
fers me,  and  that  I  believe  he  feels.  I  only  wish  you 
to  give  your  consent  to  my  marrying  him,  if  he  asks 
for  it." 

"  I  am  at  least  pleased,  Isabel,  that  you  do  not  pro- 
pose to  compensate  him  in  dollars  and  cents  for  his  love. 


A  SUDDEN  MARRIAGE.  69 

But  people  cannot  live  in  this  world  without  money, 
as  no  one  knows  better  than  you  do.  You  have  always 
had  enough  of  it.  But  I  will  be  frank  and  exact  with 
you.     What  is  his  salary  in  his  present  position  ?" 

"  He  has  told  me  that  it  is  three  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  only,  but  that  he  is  in  the  line  of  promotion." 

"  Three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  is  not  much  of  an 
income  for  an  English  gentleman  to  marry  an  Ameri- 
can wife  on,  is  it  ?" 

"  Ky  dear  father,  I  cannot  discuss  these  money  mat- 
ters.    Spare  me,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  I  will,  my  child.  I  will  give  you  an  income  of  the 
same  amount  as  his  salary  ;  it  shall  be  paid  regularly 
every  quarter,  and  it  shall  always  be  kept  equal  to  his 
pay,  if  he  rises  to  the  best-paid  post  in  the  queen's 
dominions.  James  Bradshaw's  word  is  as  good  as  his 
bond,  and  I  believe  he  never  gave  either  for  what  he 
could  not  pay.  Mr.  Gascoigne  can  come  to  see  me 
whenever  he  likes,  and  I  shall  say  to  him  just  what  I 
have  said  to  you.  Your  mother  will  attend  to  your 
outfit,  and  the  marriage  can  take  place  whenever  you 
choose." 

Mr.  Bradshaw,  in  a  very  characteristic  way,  brought 
this  conversation  to  a  somewhat  abrupt  and  business- 
like termination,  because  he  saw  that  Isabel's  mind  was 
made  up,  and  that  he  must  let  her  shape  her  own  lot, 
as  she  said  and  he  hoped  that  she  could  do.  He  had 
great  affection  for  her,  but  she  had  grievously  disap- 
pointed him.  I  fear  that  he  did  not  confess  to  him- 
self that  it  was  largely  his  own  fault  that  a  child  of 
such  gifts  had  not  been  better  taught  how  to  use  the 
power  that  they  gave  her.  There  are  such  fathers, 
and  very  good  ones  too ;  men  who  think  it  sufficient  to 
give  all  their  children  alike  the  same  advantages,  but 
who  do  not  take  proper  account  of  the  diflferences  in 
their  characters.  His  other  daughters  were  not  bril- 
liant or  fascinating,  as  Isabel  was.  They  were  rather 
commonplace,  good  women.  They  never  needed  the 
restraints  that  she  did.  They  were  excellent  domestic 
characters  from  their  girlhood.  She  was  a  girl  who 
required  a  tighter  rein. 


70  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

The  marriage  took  place  soon  after  the  engagement, 
because  Gascoigne's  leave  of  absence  was  about  expir- 
ing, although  it  had  been  extended  a  month  on  account 
of  the  connection  he  had  formed.  Isabel  might,  some 
people  thought,  have  required  him  to  go  home  and  re- 
turn for  her.  But  this  was  her  affair  and  not  the  con- 
cern of  the  neighbors. 

Mrs.  Bradshaw  spent  a  great  deal  of  money  on  Isa- 
bel's trousseau,  for  which  all  the  arts  of  dress-making 
and  millinery  in  Boston  and  New  York  were  drawn 
upon.  There  were  rich  wedding-presents,  but  the  press 
did  not  give  a  list  of  them  and  the  names  of  the  donors, 
as  is  now  the  custom.  They  were  married  in  Old 
Trinity,  the  church  on  Summer  Street,  which  was 
swept  away  by  the  great  fire  in  1872.  The  company 
at  the  church  was  not  large,  because  Isabel  wished  to 
have  a  quiet  wedding.  She  was  married  in  a  travelling- 
dress.  There  was  a  breakfast  at  the  house,  after  the 
English  fashion,  out  of  compliment  to  the  bridegroom. 
He  behaved  in  his  most  becoming  manner,  and  every 
one  was  pleased  with  him.  Mr.  Bradshaw,  in  addition 
to  the  arrangements  for  Isabel's  income,  presented 
Gascoigne  with  a  check  for  two  thousand  dollars,  and 
put  into  his  daughter's  purse  a  handsome  sum  in  Ameri- 
can gold.  I  was  at  the  breakfast,  and,  when  all  the 
other  guests  had  departed,  I  had  the  honor  of  escorting 
the  bride  to  the  carriage  that  was  to  take  them  to  the 
packet-ship  on  which  they  were  to  embark  for  England. 
Isabel  took  my  arm,  after  she  had  bidden  farewell  to 
her  family,  and  tripped  lightly  down  the  steps.  Her 
husband  had  lingered  to  say  a  few  last  words  to  her 
father.  At  the  carriage-door  she  turned  and  held  out 
her  hand  to  me.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "for  all  your 
kindness,  for  your  generous  forbearance.  I  shall  not 
forget  you.  You  have  been  a  true  friend,  and  those  I 
never  forget.  I  hope  soon  to  hear  that  you  have 
brought  from  her  native  home  the  woman  who  is  to  be 
your  wife,  and  whom  I  ought  to  have  known.  Fare- 
well. Be  thankful,  as  I  am,  that  I  am  off."  At  this 
moment,  her  maid,  a  buxom  and  nice-looking  colored 
woman,  who  had  been  her  personal  attendant  since  she 


A  SUDDEN  MARRIAGE.  71 

Tvas  a  child,  came  down  with  her  dressing-case  and  got 
into  another  carriage.  Gascoigne  gave  me  a  hearty 
hand-shake,  sprang  to  the  side  of  his  wife,  the  footman 
closed  the  door  with  a  sharp  click,  and  they  were 
driven  away.     Tears  elapsed  before  I  saw  Isabel  again. 

I  returned  into  the  house  after  they  were  out  of 
sight.  The  ladies  of  the  family  had  gone  up-stairs,  to 
weep, — the  inevitable  ending  of  all  weddings  for  the 
ladies  who  remain  at  home.  Mr.  Bradshaw  heard  my 
step  and  called  to  me  from  the  little  parlor  to  come  in. 
"  I  know,"  he  said,  "what  you  have  been  thinking  of 
all  day.     Can  you  give  me  any  news  of  him  ?" 

"I  only  know,  sir,"  I  answered,  "that  he  is  settled 
in  a  Western  town,  and  that  his  sister  is  with  him." 

"I  am  thankful,"  he  replied,  "that  he  has  found  a 
resting-place.  Those  Western  towns  are  full  of  tremen- 
dous energies,  and  men  do  a  great  deal  there  in  a  short 
time.  In  his  sister's  society  he  will  have  the  repose 
and  comfort  that  he  needs.  Thank  God,  he  has  at  least 
that  blessing." 

I  walked  to  my  bachelor  lodgings,  wondering  what 
would  be  the  fate  of  the  attractive  creature  who  had 
been  married  that  morning  and  had  gone  far  away  into 
a  life  of  which  she  could  then  know  very  little.  I 
should  have  asked  her  to  write  to  me,  but  I  supposed 
that  I  should  hear  from  her  family  some  account  of  her 
reception  in  England,  and  of  the  new  life  on  which  she 
had  ventured.  The  arrangements  for  my  own  marriage 
soon  afterwards  occupied  most  of  my  thoughts,  but  I 
did  not  omit  to  learn  everything  about  Isabel  that  I 
could  gather  from  her  mother  and  sisters.  She  had 
always  been  an  interesting  study  to  me,  and  now  that 
she  had  gone,  I  thought  it  highly  probable  that  she 
would,  as  my  fiancee  predicted,  become  a  miserable 
woman,  or  else  that  her  character  might,  by  some 
means,  be  very  much  changed.  She  certainly  had  quali- 
ties that  great  happiness  or  great  adversity  might  de- 
velop into  an  admirable  woman.  I  never  lost  my  faith 
in  her  natural  disposition.  But  what  was  to  be  the 
outcome  of  the  risk  that  she  took  ?  Whatever  was  the 
ground  of  her  confidence  in  Gascoigno,  there  must  be 


72  JOHN  charAxes. 

many  things,  as  her  father  had  told  her,  i^  the  situation 
in  which  she  would  find  herself,  that  would  affect  her 
happiness  besides  her  husband's  amiable  qualities  and 
good  principles.  She  was  going  among  strangers. 
Who  or  what  they  might  be  she  could  not  know,  ex- 
cepting from  what  her  husband  had  told  her  or  might 
tell  her  on  their  voyage.  And  how  could  this  prepare 
her  for  what  she  would  meet  in  a  world  of  which  she 
had  only  read  in  books  ? 


CHAPTEE  Y. 

A   SLAVE   AUCTION   AND   WHAT   IT   BROUGHT. 

I  MUST  not  let  the  bride  and  groom  go  away  without 
giving  some  account  of  Isabel's  maid,  for  the  way  in 
which  a  South  Carolina  slave-woman  came  to  be  in 
the  Bradshaw  household  may  interest  the  reader.  She 
did  not  travel  northward  by  the  Underground  Eail- 
road.  That  institution  did  not  exist  when  Dinah,  at 
the  age  of  twenty,  was  sold  at  auction  in  Charleston  ; 
and  if  it  had  been  in  operation,  the  girl  could  not  have 
been  induced  to  avail  herself  of  it.  She  was  born,  as 
her  parents  and  grandparents  were,  on  one  of  the  cot- 
ton plantations  of  a  wealthy  family,  the  heads  of  which 
had,  for  generations,  male  and  female,  always  been 
Christian  masters  and  mistresses,  who  had  fulfilled  their 
duties  to  their  slaves  in  the  most  exemplar}^  manner. 
Dinah  was  taken  into  the  capacity  of  lady's-maid  at  a 
very  early  age,  and  was  thus  one  of  the  house-servants 
in  town  and  country.  She  lost  her  kind  master  and 
mistress  in  her  twentieth  year,  and,  in  consequence  of 
their  deaths  and  of  some  complications  in  the  affairs  of 
their  estate,  a  portion  of  the  negroes  had  to  be  sold. 
As  there  was  no  lady  among  the  connections  of  the 
family  who  specially  needed  Dinah,  she  was  included 
in  a  list  which  an  auctioneer  in  Charleston  was  author- 
ized by  the  executors  to  advertise  at  public  sale.     These 


A   SLAVE  AUCTION  AND    WHAT  IT  BROUGHT.     73 

servants  were  not  unlikely  to  be  in  request,  for  they 
were  known  to  some  of  the  best  families  in  the  State. 
At  the  time  when  this  event  occurred — a  very  unusual 
one  in  the  history  of  the  Pringle  property,  but  common 
enough  on  the  breaking  up  of  lesser  estates — 3Ir.  and 
Mrs.  Bradshaw  happened  to  be  in  Charleston.  The 
Boston  merchant  had  come  there  to  attend  personally 
to  some  business  relating  to  one  of  his  ships.  He  saw 
the  advertisement  describing  with  some  particularity 
the  person  and  qualities  of  tliis  negro  girl,  and  he  pro- 
posed to  his  wife  that  he  should  buy  her  and  take  her 
home  with  them  as  a  nurse  for  Isabel,  who  was  then  a 
delicate  child,  and  who  had  never  taken  well  to  her 
present  nurse.  Mrs.  Bradshaw,  who  had  done  the 
part  of  a  weak  mother  towards  spoiling  Isabel,  was 
verjMvilling  to  have  a  servant  to  whom  she^could  intrust 
her  child  with  a  certainty  that  the  little  girl  would  be 
indulged  as  she  had  always  been.  She  cheerfully  gave 
her  consent  to  this  purchase,  provided  she  could  see 
and  talk  to  the  negress  in  private.  An  opportunity  to 
do  this  was  afforded,  and  the  result  was  that  Mr.  Brad- 
shaw determined  to  attend  the  sale  himself  and  buy 
the  girl,  if  the  price  were  not  run  up  too  high. 

On  a  wooden  block  which  rested  upon  the  sidewalk 
in  front  of  the  auctioneer's  store  there  stood  a  very 
comely  negro  girl,  as  straight  as  an  arrow,  whose  figure 
was  almost  perfectly  symmetrical ;  her  hands  were 
small,  as  were  those  of  other  negro  girls  who  had  never 
worked  in  the  fields,  but  her  feet  were  broad  and  flat, 
of  the  true  type  of  her  race.  Save  for  this  peculiarity 
of  her  lower  extremities,  she  would  have  made  in  all 
respects  an  admirable  model  for  a  sculptor  or  painter. 
Her  complexion  was  very  dark,  but  there  was  a  clear 
brown  tint  that  took  away  what  might  have  been  the 
less  attractive  aspect  of  a  perfectly  black  skin;  Yet 
there  was  not  a  drop  of  white  blood  in  her  veins.  She 
was  in  every  fibre  and  feature  a  child  of  Africa,  whose 
ancestors  were  of  the  Congo  blood,  back  to  the  pair 
whom  a  British  slave-trader  had  brought  from  Africa 
and  landed  in  Carolina,  when  it  suited  the  policy  of 
our  mother-country  to  stock  the  Southern  colonies 
D  7 


74  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

with  a  plentiful  supply  of  slaves,  and  when  the  mer- 
chants of  Liverpool  and  Bristol  drove  openly  and  avow- 
edly a  most  profitable  slave-trade.  The  girl  had  the 
thick  lips  and  typical  nose  of  her  race ;  the  whites  of 
her  eyes  were  in  high  contrast  with  the  pupils ;  her 
teeth  were  regular,  strong,  and  white ;  and  when  her 
pouting  lips  parted  with  a  smile,  there  was  a  grin  that 
was  contagious  for  every  one  who  looked  upon  her 
honest  and  tender  countenance.  The  expression  that 
comes  of  cultivated  intelligence  was  not  there ;  but 
there  was  a  natural  intelligence  and  quickness  of  per- 
ception. She  was  evidentlj^a  creature  who  would  give 
her  life  to  any  one  to  whom  she  became  attached,  and 
her  muscular  development  indicated  great  powers  of 
endurance.  On  her  woolly  head  she  wore  a  cotton 
handkerchief  of  bright  colors,  twisted  into  a  kind  of 
turban.  She  was  clothed  in  a  calico  gown.  A  phre- 
nologist, if  one  had  examined  her  shapely  head,  would 
have  said  that  her  "bumps"  were  welf  proportioned. 

The  sale  was  conducted  with  entire  decency.  It  was 
evident  enough  that  the  girl  was  what  a  horse-dealer 
would  call  "  sound  ;"  and  if,  in  other  cases  of  the  human 
"  cattle"  put  up  for  sale,  there  was  some  examination 
allowed,  such  as  would  be  thought  fair  in  the  case  of  a 
quadruped,  this  girl  was  too  well  known  in  the  city 
to  make  it  necessarj^  to  ex^^ose  her  to  that  kind  of 
scrutiny.  After  the  auctioneer  had  read  the  advertise- 
ment, and  added  that  he  now  offered  a  servant  who 
had  been  bred  by  a  deceased  lady  who  was  well  known 
and  respected  by  every  inhabitant  of  the  city,  the  bid- 
ding became  lively.  Several  ladies  had  asked  their 
husbands  to  buy  Dinah,  and  the  agents  of  these  gentle- 
men were  on  the  ground.  Dinah's  bright  eyes  glanced 
anxiously  from  one  face  to  another  as  the  different 
bids  were  made,  on  each  of  which  the  auctioneer  dwelt 
with  his  customary  repetition  of  "going,"  "going." 
"  I^ot  half  her  value,  gentlemen."  "  You  must  go  a  peg 
higher,  sir."  "  It  is  a  rare  chance ;  going,  going ;  who 
says  ten  more?"  The  girl,  however,  exhibited  and 
probably  felt  no  distress,  for  she  knew  that  she  must  go 
through  this,  and  she  believed  "  dat  de  Lord"  would 


A   SLAVE  AUCTION  AND    WHAT  IT  BROUGHT.      75 

send  her  a  kind  master  or  mistress.  For  this  confidence 
in  her  fate  she  could  have  given  no  reason,  if  she  had 
been  asked  for  one,  excepting  that  she  had  been  a  good 
girl,  as  her  old  mistress,  who  was  now  in  heaven,  had 
always  said  she  was.  She  did  not  know  what  was  in 
store  for  her. 

The  bidding  had  mounted  to  very  near  eight  hun- 
dred dollars,  when,  to  the  surprise  of  the  whole  crowd, 
the  Boston  merchant  capped  it  with  the  amount  neces- 
sary to  make  up  that  sum,  and  the  auctioneer,  after 
trying  in  vain  to  extract  another  bid,  knocked  the 
chattel  down  to  '-What  name,  sir?"  "James  Brad- 
shaw,  of  Boston,"  said  that  gentleman. 

Perhaps  the  novelty  of  such  a  purchase  by  a  stran- 
ger and  a  Northern  man — a  purchase  made  in  person — 
rather  bewildered  the  agents  who  represented  citizens 
of  Charleston.  But  the  state  of  things  throughout  the 
Union  in  regard  to  slavery  was  not  then  such  as  to 
give  rise  to  anything  more  than  a  little  wonder  what 
the  purchaser  would  do  with  his  bargain.  Bradshaw 
stepped  into  the  office  of  the  auctioneer,  drew  his  check 
on  a  Charleston  bank  for  the  money,  and  received  a 
regular  bill  of  sale.  Dinah  was  sent  to  the  hotel  with 
a  note  to  Mrs.  Bradshaw,  and  in  due  time  she  accom- 
panied her  new  protectors  to  their  home  in  Boston. 
After  they  arrived  there,  Mr.  Bradshaw  made  known 
to  Dinah  that  she  was  free  by  the  laws  of  Massa- 
chusetts ;  but  to  make  his  own  purposes  manifest,  he 
executed  proper  papers  to  establish  her  freedom,  and 
had  them  filed  in  a  public  office.  He  then  made,  or 
tried  to  make,  her  comprehend  that  she  would  be  paid 
wages,  and  that  one-half  of  her  earnings  would  be  re- 
tained to  reimburse  the  money  that  had  been  paid  for 
her,  and  the  other  half  would  be  regularly  paid  to  her- 
self to  do  what  she  pleased  with. 

Dinah  did  not  much  concern  herself  about  these 
matters.  At  this  period  of  her  life  she  knew  almost 
nothing  of  the  value  of  money,  and  cared  less.  She 
did  not  try  to  grasp  the  idea  of  how  long  it  would  be 
before  Mr.  Bradshaw  would  be  paid  by  her  labor.  She 
was  glad  to  be  a  free  woman,  and  she  felt  thankful 


76  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

"  dat  de  Lord"  had  done  for  her  what  she  supposed  he 
would.  If  she  looked  back  to  "  Ole  Carliny"  with  any 
regret,  she  remembered  that  she  had  left  no  near  kin- 
dred behind  her,  for  her  father  and  mother  had  both 
died  before  their  master  and  mistress  ;  she  had  no 
brothers  or  sisters,  and  she  had  never  had  a  lover  in 
her  life. 

Dinah  was  soon  installed  as  nursery-maid  to  the  little 
Isabel.  To  dress  her  young  mistress ;  to  comb  and 
curl  her  beautiful  tresses ;  to  sing  her  to  sleep  with  the 
plaintive  negro  melodies  of  the  South ;  to  cook  for  her 
dainty  Southern  dishes  ;  to  take  her  to  walk  in  the  Bea- 
con Street  Mall,  or  go  to  a  shop  and  buy  a  new  doll,  or 
get  her  unlimited  ice-cream  at  a  Frenchwoman's  con- 
fectionery in  Cornhill, — in  short,  to  do  anything  and 
everything  that  could  pamper  an  over-indulged  child 
became  Dinah's  sole  occupation.  Yet  somehow  she 
established  a  better  control  over  this  child  than  any 
one  else  had  ever  had.  It  was  through  the  power  of 
love,  and  not  of  authority;  for  of  authority  Dinah 
knew  nothing.  When  there  was  something  that  she  did 
not  choose  to  let  Isabel  do,  she  generally  carried  her 
point.  But  it  was  seldom  that  she  departed  from  the 
course  of  unbounded  indulgence. 

Nature  had  given  to  Dinah,  as  it  has  to  many  of  the 
females  of  her  race,  a  most  accurate  ear  and  a  low, 
sweet  voice,  as  clear  as  the  softest  "  breathing  of  a 
lute."  Her  singing  was,  of  course,  uncultivated,  but 
the  gift  of  music  was  in  her,  to  the  utmost  perfection 
of  the  natural  endowment.  If  Isabel  went  to  a  con- 
cert with  the  rest  of  the  family,  Dinah  always  accom- 
panied them,  and  in  a  back  seat  she  drank  in  the 
performance  with  a  quiet  but  exquisite  enjoyment  that 
sometimes  filled  her  eyes  with  tears.  When  the  con- 
cert was  over,  she  rolled  Isabel  up  in  a  blanket-shawl, 
took  the  child  in  her  strong  arms,  and  put  her  in  the 
carriage ;  then  ran  on  home,  and  was  at  the  door  to  lift 
her  out  with  the  same  tender  care.  She  became  a 
necessity  to  Isabel,  and  the  child  returned  her  affection. 
It  was  evident  that  it  would  almost  require  death  to 
separate  them.     It  is  incomprehensible  to  some  of  us 


A   SLAVE  AUCTION  AND   WHAT  IT  BROUGHT.      77 

how  very  young  white  children,  of  delicate  tempera- 
ments, will  take  to  black  women.  Perhaps  it  is  the 
irony  of  nature,  sardonically  quizzing  our  Northern 
notion  of  an  innate  repugnance  of  our  race  for  theirs. 
Perhaps  our  babies  find  a  peculiar  softness  and  tender- 
ness in  the  negro  skin,  as  they  certainly  often  do  find 
a  love  that  never  tires  and  a  temper  that  is  never  cross, 
at  least  to  the  white  child,  if  they  ever  are  to  their  own 
offspring. 

Dinah  was  a  religious  woman,  according  to  her  light. 
It  was  not  deemed  well  in  the  South  to  educate  even 
the  brightest  of  the  slaves  who  must  remain  slaves  in 
what  we  mean  by  education, — reading  and  writing. 
Dinah  had  never  been  taught  to  read,  but  her  former 
mistress  had  been  in  the  habit  of  reading  the  Bible  to 
her  and  explaining  some  of  the  stories  in  it;  she  once 
made  Dinah  commit  to  memory  the  whole  of  the  Ser- 
mon on  the  Mount,  and  the  girl  never  forgot  a  word  of 
it.  To  her  the  beatitudes  constituted  all  there  is  of  re- 
ligion: was  she  far  wrong  about  this  ?  She  was  always 
quoting  them,  translated  into  her  peculiar  dialect.  Of 
doctrine  she  had  not  been  taught  much.  She  had  lis- 
tened to  lessons  which  her  mistress  gave  her,  in  which 
that  good  lady  explained  the  fall  of  Adam ;  and  in  the 
country,  on  the  plantation,  she  had  heard  a  gray-haired 
Methodist  preacher  of  her  own  race,  who  knew  a  great 
deal  about  the  Bible,  but  knew  it  at  second-hand,  as 
he  had  never  read  a  word  of  it  in  his  life,  explain  the 
manner  in  which  "  the  ole  Sarpint"  beguiled  "  Mudder 
Eve."  But  Dinah's  idea  of  that  memorable  occurrence 
was  from  her  childhood  and  all  through  her  life  very 
simple, — namely,  that  the  law  of  obedience  was  then 
and  there  given  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  "  Ef,"  she 
used  to  say,  "yeou  dun  don't  do  what  you  air  tole,  or 
ef  yeou  do  suthin'  dat  God  has  tole  yer  not  ter,  yeou'v 
got  ter  pay  for't."  If  there  is  a  safer  belief  than  this, 
I  do  not  know  that  theologians  have  discovered  it. 

The  Pringle  familj^,  by  whom  Dinah  was  "raised," 
were  Presbyterians.  In  the  city  they  attended  a  fash- 
ionable church  of  that  denomination,  where  many  of 
the  wealthiest  families  were  pew-holders  and  worship- 

7* 


78  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

pers,  as  their  fathers  before  them  had  been.  The  col- 
ored servants  of  these  families  sat  during  the  morn- 
ing service  in  a  gallery  appropriated  to  them,  but  on 
Communion  Sundays,  when  the  Lord's  Supper  was  cele- 
brated, always  at  noon,  the  servants  came  down  into 
the  body  of  the  church,  and  were  seated  on  benches 
in  the  broad  aisle,  their  masters  and  mistresses,  old  and 
young,  being  in  the  pews.  All  were  served  alike,  with 
the  bread  and  wine,  from  the  same  massive  silver  ves- 
sels, and  by  the  same  deacons.  Master  and  slave,  at 
the  table  of  their  common  Lord  and  Saviour,  were 
equal.  It  was  an  impressive  recognition  of  the  brother- 
hood of  man.  (The  writer  saw  this  interesting  sight 
in  the  city  of  Charleston  more  than  forty  years  ago.) 

The  Bradshaw  family  were  religious  people  too,  after 
a  mild  type  of  old-fashioned  Episcopalianism.  But 
neither  in  their  church  nor  in  any  other  in  Boston 
did  Dinah,  after  she  had  come  there  to  live,  ever  see 
what  to  her  was  a  familiar  spectacle  in  her  younger 
days,  black  and  white  people  partaking  together  of  the 
elements  which  typify  the  body  and  blood  of  the  Re- 
deemer. It  is  true  that  there  had  been  no  slaves  in 
the  Northern  city  for  about  a  century ;  but  there  were 
a  good  many  free  negroes,  and  they  were  not  often 
treated  in  the  churches  of  the  wealthy  as  if  they  were 
"  men  and  brethren"  at  the  period  when  these  memoirs 
begin.  At  a  later  period,  Dinah  found  a  chapel  where 
an  extraordinary  man,  who  was  called  "  Father  Tay- 
lor," preached  to  the  sailors.  In  this  audience  there 
were  both  blacks  and  whites.  The  pastor  had  a  strong 
gift  of  eloquence  of  a  peculiar  kind,  admirably  adapted 
to  reach  the  wild  natures  of  the  roving  and  changing 
seamen  who  came  to  his  Bethel.  It  was  an  intellectual 
treat  to  highly  intellectual  people  to  go  and  hear  Father 
Taylor,  but  he  never  varied  his  discourse  on  account 
of  the  presence  of  such  persons.  He  knew  very  well 
that  from  their  purses  came  the  greater  part  of  the 
money  that  sustained  his  Bethel  and  supported  his 
family,  but  he  never  flattered  man  or  woman,  and  he 
perfectly  understood  his  mission  to  a  class  of  society 
for  whose  religious  teaching  his  natural  endowments 


A  SLAVE  AUCTION  AND   WHAT  IT  BROUGHT     79 

and  long  experience  had  singularly  fitted  him.  Dinah 
Bat  under  his  preaching  for  many  a  year,  through  the 
period  during  which  I  have  given  an  account  of  the  life 
of  her  young  mistress. 

When  Isabel  had  entered  society,  which  she  did  at 
seventeen,  became  surrounded  by  admirers,  and  had 
numerous  love-affairs  on  her  hands,  Dinah's  influence 
over  her  in  everything  that  did  not  relate  to  her  health 
and  bodily  comfort  was  over.  In  fact,  her  influence 
never  extended  to  matters  of  conduct  after  Isabel 
ceased  to  be  a  child;  and  Isabel  had  had  when  she  be- 
came a  young  lady  very  little  moral  training  in  the 
regulation  of  her  feelings  and  the  government  of  her 
own  heart.  Some  people  very  early  doubted  if  she  had 
a  heart ;  but  whether  she  had  or  not,  it  was  certain 
that  her  love  of  admiration  and  her  power  of  fascinat- 
ing susceptible  young  men,  and  men  who  were  not 
young,  would  enable  her  to-do  great  mischief  AYhen 
Henry  Brewster  appeared,  and  Isabel  became  engaged 
to  him  after  she  had  wrecked  the  peace  of  many  a 
good  fellow,  Dinah,  like  every  one  else  in  the  household, 
was  rejoiced.  She  thought  Henry  nearly  as  perfect  as 
Julius  Pringle.  and  he  was  her  beau  ideal  of  a  young 
gentleman.  When  Henry  first  began  to  visit  at  the 
Bradshaw  residence,  his  ring  at  the  front  door  was 
always  a  verj^  timid  touch.  Ah  !  who  of  my  male  readers 
does  not  remember  the  time  when,  desperately  in  love, 
his  heart  beat  violently  as  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
bell-pull ;  how  he  scarcely  made  any  but  the  feeblest 
tinkling  in  the  kitchen  ;  and  how,  when  his  ring  was 
answered  and  the  door  was  opened,  he  scarcely  dared 
to  raise  his  eyes  to  the  servant's  face,  and  in  what  a 
low  and  conscious  tone  he  asked  if  Miss  Mary  or  Miss 
Julia  was  at  home  ?  The  servant  knew  why  you  had 
called  at  some  unusual  hour  as  well  as  you  knew  it 
yourself;  and  he  or  she,  as  the  case  might  be,  pitied  you 
perhaps  most  sincerely,  for  your  case  had  been  all 
talked  over  below-stairs,  and  your  chances  had  been 
set  down  at  zero.  Look  back  upon  your  own  early 
days,  and  do  not  consider  poor  Henry  as  the  weakest 
of  mortals.     He  merely  went  through  the  inevitable 


80  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

experience  appointed  for  young  men  who  can  become 
dazzled  by  beauty  and  grace  of  the  very  first  and  most 
captivating  quality.  At  that  period  in  Henry's  court- 
ship, when  he  scarcely  dared  to  hope,  and  his  touch  of 
the  bell  was  so  timid,  Dinah  was  alwaj'S  on  the  watch 
for  the  feeble  little  stroke  ;  her  car  was  so  quick  that 
she  could  distinguish  Henry's  ring  in  whatever  part  of 
the  house,  she  happened  to  be,  and  she  was  down  at 
the  front  door  before  any  other  servant  had  moved  a 
step,  to  let  him  in.  "  Yaas,  sah,"  she  would  sa}',  with  a 
broad  gleam  of  welcome  beaming  from  her  black  face, 
"  Miss  Is'bel's  up-stairs,  and  I'll  run  up  and  tell  her  dat 
yeou  hev  called."  At  one  time  this  was  repeated  nearly 
every  afternoon;  and  Dinah  was  sure  to  throw  open 
the  door  of  the  drawing-room  and  ask  Henry  to  walk 
in.  When  he  came  in  the  evening  one  of  the  other 
servants  generally  answered  the  door-bell,  and  he  was 
ushered  into  the  family  gathering  as  other  visitors 
were.  When  the  catastrophe  related  in  a  former  chap- 
ter came,  and  Henry  Brewster's  brief  season  of  intoxi- 
cating happiness  was  ended,  and  he  had  gone,  none  of 
them  knew  whither,  Dinah  was  at  first  utterly  bewil- 
dered. She  could  not  understand  it,  as  no  one  else 
could  ;  but  she  said  little.  She  saw  that  Isabel  was 
wretched,  and  she  feared  that  she  would  become  ill.  In 
truth,  she  was  ill,  for  a  few  days;  and  Dinah,  without  a 
word  of  inquiry  or  remonstrance,  nursed  her  and  cared 
for  her  as  she  had  always  done.  After  all  hope  of  learn- 
ing anything  about  the  lover  whom  she  had  driven 
away  was  over,  Isabel  resumed  the  mode  of  life  that 
she  had  been  leading  so  long  when  Henry  first  crossed 
her  path.  When  she  married  the  Englishman,  Dinah, 
who  thought  the  match  better  than  for  Miss  Isabel  to 
become  an  "  ole  mad."  was  well  content  to  follow  her 
mistress's  fortunes.  In  fact,  she  could  not  have  thought 
of  anything  else,  and  the  whole  family  were  glad  that 
it  was  so. 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  YORK.  81 

CHAPTER  yi. 

A   STRANGER   LANDS   AT    NEW   YORK. 

At  about  the  time  when  Henry  Brewster  left  Boston 
a  gentleman  landed  at  ]^ew  York  from  one  of  the  lately 
established  English  steamers,  unaccompanied  by  any 
one  else,  not  even  a  servant.  He  was  apparently  about 
fifty  years  of  age.  Of  what  country  he  was  a  native, 
or  from  what  land  he  came,  save  that  he  embarked  at 
Liverpool,  he  chose  to  keep  to  himself  His  physiog- 
nomy gave  no  clue  to  his  origin.  He  appeared  to  be 
in  good  health  and  had  a  clear  complexion.  His  man- 
ners had  the  ease  and  polish  that  come  of  long  inter- 
course with  the  world.  His  demeanor  was  quiet,  rather 
grave,  self-poised,  and  perfectly  unobtrusive.  A  gen- 
eral air  of  placid  indifference  to  things  about  him  might 
have  been  remarked  by  any  one  who  did  not  observe 
that  he  had  a  pair  of  quick  gray  eyes,  which  glanced 
everywhere  and  took  in  everything,  although  it  was 
seemingly  a  cold  and  unsympathetic  glance.  On  the 
voyage  he  had  had  but  little  communication  with  any 
of  the  other  "  first-class"  passengers,  whose  curiosity 
concerning  him  had  been  carried  as  far  as  the  limits  of 
good  manners  would  allow,  but  without  any  result,  for 
there  was  something  about  him  that  repelled  intimacy. 
He  had  been  too  great  a  traveller  to  attempt  much  con- 
versation with  the  captain  of  an  English  steamer.  As 
the  vessel  neared  Sandy  Hook,  and  the  captain,  at  the 
head  of  the  dinner-table  for  the  last  time,  ordered  the 
customary  bottle  of  champagne,  this  gentleman  ac- 
cepted the  civility  of  a  glass,  and  capped  the  taciturn 
officer's  order  by  one  of  his  own.  As  the  wine  circu- 
lated along  the  table  he  took  it  freely,  but  it  did  not 
seem  to  exhilarate  him  or  to  loosen  his  tongue.  When 
the  disembarkation  occurred,  the  general  voice  of  the 
passengers  was  much  divided  about  him.  Some  sup- 
posed him  to  be  an  Englishman ;  and  he  was  taken, 

/ 


82  JOHN  charAxes. 

with  just  as  good  reason,  which  was  none  at  all,  for  a 
Frenchman,  an  Italian,  a  Eiissian,  a  GJ-erman,  a  mer- 
chant, a  nobleman,  and  so  on.  The  ladies  were  all 
agreed  that  he  was  a  well-bred  man,  but  distant  and 
reserved.  What  his  nationality  was,  or  what  his  past 
life  had  been,  was  a  small  mystery,  talked  of  until  the 
general  dispersion  took  place  at  the  landing.  It  had 
been  observed,  however,  that  he  spoke  English  with 
entire  purity  and  correctness,  but  neither  in  that  nor 
in  one  or  two  Continental  languages  in  which  he  had 
been  heard  to  say  something  did  his  accent  indicate 
whether  it  was  or  was  not  his  mother-tongue. 

At  the  Astor  House,  to  which  he  drove  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  his  baggage  through  the  handsof  the  customs 
officers, — more  than  one  of  whom  acted  as  if  he  expected 
a  douceur  for  granting  the  landing-permit,  but  without 
finding  any  pretext  for  a  lawful  exaction, — our  traveller 
registered  his  name  as  "John  Charaxes,"  with  the 
sole  addition  of  the  words  "  last  from  Liverpool."  The 
prompt,  quick  manager  in  the  office,  who  had  acquired 
from  long  practice  a  surprising  faculty  of  reading  at  a 
glance  the  proper  pretensions  of  a  guest,  whirled  the 
book  round  on  the  marble  counter  with  a  smart  twist 
of  his  left  hand,  wrote  against  the  stranger's  name  the 
number  of  the  best  parlor  in  the  hotel  having  an  ad- 
joining bedroom,  tossed  the  key  to  "  David  or  "  Pat- 
rick," whichever  of  them  answered  the  sharp  order  of 
"  Front,"  and  told  the  brawny  Irishman  to  take  the 
gentleman's  baggage  and  show  him  the  way.  He  had 
just  sent  another  guest,  of  less  distinguished  appearance, 
but  whose  money  was  perhaps  as  good  as  anybody's,  to 
much  inferior  accommodations. 

The  surname  which  now  stood  on  the  register  of  the 
hotel  as  the  last  arrival  might  imply  a  Greek  origin. 
But  the  unmistakable  English  "  John"  produced  a  little 
confusion  in  the  mind  of  the  reporter  who  came  in  soon 
after  to  copy  the  names  for  the  evening  paper,  as  the 
owner  of  this  association  of  names  apparently  did  not 
mean  to  be  known  to  belong  anywhere.  Mr.  Charaxes 
dined  in  his  own  apartment,  so  that  there  was  no  ques- 
tion about  placing  him  at  the  tahle-dlwte. 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  FORK.  83 

On  the  next. day  after  his  arrival,  during  the  hours 
of  'change,  our  traveller  walked  down  Wall  Street,  in 
search  of  the  office  of  a  banker  to  whom  he  had  a  letter 
of  introduction  from  that  banker's  correspondent  in 
Geneva.  In  the  rush  of  men  and  boys  along  the  side- 
walk, some  hurrying  to  pay  a  note,  some  to  make  a 
deposit,  some  to  carry  an  order  to  a  broker  to  buy  or 
sell  this  stock  or  that, — neither  telegraph  nor  telephone 
was  then  in  all  offices  of  business, — the  stranger  was 
frequently  jostled  aside,  sometimes  pushed  out  of  the 
way,  without  the  slightest  apology  for  the  rudeness. 
This  first  specimen  of  American  street  manners  did  not 
strike  him  pleasantly ;  nor,  when  he  made  such  inquiries 
as  he  had  to  make  in  order  to  find  the  place  for  which 
he  was  bound,  were  the  answers  so  polite  as  he  had  met 
with  in  other  parts  of  the  world  under  similar  circum- 
stances. But  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  philosophically 
and  threaded  his  way  until  he  found  himself  in  the 
office  of  the  banker  to  whom  he  had  been  accredited. 
This  gentleman,  a  tall  man  of  some  sixty  years,  with  a 
foreign  accent  that  bespoke  him  as  a  native  of  Switzer- 
land, after  perusing  the  letter  of  his  correspondent, 
welcomed  the  stranger  very  politely ;  for  the  letter, 
although  it  gave  no  indication  of  the  bearer's  nation- 
ality or  of  his  purpose  in  coming  to  America,  spoke  of 
him  as  a  person  of  great  wealth,  entire  respectability, 
and  agreeable  personal  qualities.  Before  the  close  of 
the  day  there  stood  on  the  banker's  books  to  the  credit 
of  John  Charaxes,  Esquire,  by  effect  of  the  charm  re- 
siding in  certain  bills  of  exchange,  a  large  sum  of  money, 
— larger  than  was  commonly  to  be  found  there  to  the 
credit  of  an  individual.  If  some  curiosity  was  excited 
in  the  office,  or  there  was  any  speculation  about  a 
possible  agent  of  some  foreign  government,  or,  mayhap, 
a  representative  of  some  new  enterprise  about  to  be 
undertaken  in  America  from  the  "  other  side,"  the 
clerks  and  book-keepers  kept  their  surmises  to  them- 
selves. It  was  their  business  to  honor  the  gentleman's 
checks  when  they  were  presented,  and  not  to  inquire 
what  he  did  with  his  money.  Their  chief,  however, 
had  other  duties  to  perform.     According  to  his  custom, 


84:  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

he  asked  Mr.  Charaxes  to  name  a  day  when  he  would 
dine  with  him,  saying  that  he  should  like  to  ask  some 
gentlemen  whom  he  thought  a  stranger  would  be  pleased 
to  meet.  The  invitation  was  frankly  accepted,  and  at 
the  appointed  time  Mr.  Charaxes  presented  himself  at  • 
the  residence  of  the  banker,  a  large  and  well-appointed 
house  in  the  lower  part  of  Fifth  Avenue,  not  far  from 
Washington  Square.  Among  the  other  guests  were 
Mr.  Washington  Irving,  Mr.  Fenimore  Cooper,  Mr. 
Bryant,  and  Mr.  Fitz-G-reene  Halleck ;  one  or  two  of 
the  eminent  lawyers  of  the  time  ;  Bishop  Wain  wright,  of 
the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  ;  and  Bishop  Hughes, 
of  the  Eoman  Catholic  Diocese.  There  was  a  promi- 
nent and  rather  bellicose  editor  of  a  daily  paper,  Mr. 
Watson  Webb;  a  distinguished  civil  engineer,  Mr. 
Horatio  Allen  ;  and  there  Avere  a  few  elderly  gentle- 
men who  represented  the  Knickerbocker  element  of 
New  York  society,  together  with  a  fair  sprinkling  of 
the  enterprising  men  of  New  England  birth,  long  set- 
tled in  New  York  in  various  branches  of  business. 
The  whole  company,  about  twenty  in  number,  com- 
posed a  party  that  a  stranger  might  well  be  glad  to 
meet. 

The  dinner  was  elegant  and  sumptuous,  but  the  menu 
need  not  be  given.  The  wines  were  choice,  and  were 
served  in  good  taste  ;  Madeira  being  the  after-dinner 
wine  that  received  the  greatest  share  of  attention. 
When  it  came  upon  the  mahogany  there  was  an  ap- 
parent tendency  to  make  it  the  subject  of  a  prolonged 
conversation.  Bishop  Wainwright,  who  took  his  glass 
with  the  gusto  of  a  connoisseur,  asked  Mr.  Cooper  if 
he  had  ever  tasted  anything  finer.  That  gentleman  re- 
plied that  when  he  was  in  the  navy  he  had  met  with 
excellent  Madeira  in  Charleston,  but  not  better  than 
the  wine  now  on  the  table.  This  dreary  subject  was 
continued  for  some  time,  but  it  gave  place  to  another 
topic,  for  just  then  water  was  a  matter  of  greater  inter- 
est among  citizens  of  New  York  than  wine  even. 

''  I  do  not  understand,"  said  a  member  of  the  famous 
"  New  England  Society,"  "  how  this  city  has  managed 
to  live  and  grow  as  it  has,  with  nothing  for  the  popu- 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  FORK.  85 

lation  to  drink  but  the  wretched  puddle  obtained  from 
wells  sunk  in  near  proximity  to  cess-pools.  Why,  Mr. 
Van  Yechten,  did  not  your  ancestors  think  of  the  Cro- 
ton  Eiver  ?" 

Mr.  Van  Yechten  was  a  respectable  old  gentleman  of 
Butch  descent,  and  a  high  oflacer  in  the  "  St.  Nicholas 
Society." 

"  We  got  along  very  well,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  and  until 
now,  when  water  is  so  much  wanted  for  other  than 
domestic  uses,  we  have  suffered  no  inconvenience;  but 
there  has  been  a  great  influx  of  beer-drinking  foreigners 
among  us,  and  now  we  must  tax  ourselves  to  get  water 
for  the  brewers." 

"Mr.  Irving,"  said  the  New-Englander,  "I  suppose 
you  would  say  that  Mr.  Yan  Yechten's  ancestors 
thought  more  of  their  Hollands  than  of  any  other  bev- 
erage?" 

"Perhups  not  more,"  Mr.  Irving  said,  ''than  your 
people  thought  of  the  rum  that  they  made  and  sold  so 
cheaply.  I  fancy  that  the  Dutch  liquor  was  rather 
more  wholesome." 

"  You  must  tax  yourselves  now,  Mr.  Yan  Yechten," 
said  Mr.  Allen,  "  that  you  may  not  have  to  tax  your- 
selves tenfold  more  heavily  hereafter.  Thirty  years 
hence  this  city  ought  to  have  a  population  more  than 
double  what  it  has  to-day.  If  this  generation  does  not 
make  provision  for  an  abundant  supply  of  pure  water, 
New  York  will  come  to  a  stand-still." 

In  this  conversation  on  a  local  topic,  taking  place 
across  one  end  of  the  table,  the  stranger  could  have  no 
share.  At  about  midway  between  the  two  ends,  Mr. 
Webb  had  begun  a  political  talk,  in  which  a  great' deal 
was  said  about  Greneral  Jackson,  his  removal  of  the 
deposits  from  the  bank  of  the  United  States,  President 
Yan  Buren's  financial  .policy,  and  sundry  other  matters 
then  much  agitating  the  political  world.  To  this,  too, 
our  traveller  could  only  listen,  learning,  however,  a  good 
deal,  as  was  his  wont.  But  at  length  Mr.  Cooper,  who 
regarded  with  great  respect  what  he  was  accustomed 
to  call  aplomb,  and  who  had  been  much  impressed  by 
that  trait  in  the  bearing  of  the  stranger,  addressed  him 

8 


86  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

directly:  "Mr.  Charaxes,  I  believe  you  have  lately 
come  from  England.  Have  they  yet  found  an  answer 
to  the  question  '  Who  reads  an  American  book  ?'  " 

A  smile  passed  over  the  countenance  of  Charaxes, 
and  he  made  a  polite  inclination  of  his  head  towards 
Mr.  Cooper,  as  he  answered,  "  I  think,  sir,  that  you 
and  other  gentlemen  at  this  table  have  enabled  them 
to  find  an  answer,  if  they  wish  for  one.  Your  litera- 
ture certainly  does  no  discredit  to  your  origin,  and  you 
are  now  as  independent  of  England  in  your  intellectual 
products  as  you  have  long  been  in  government.  The 
language,  too,  has  been  enriched  by  the  expansion  that 
it  has  received  in  America ;  and,  if  I  may  presume  to 
judge,  the  best  English  is  now  written  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  Dr.  Channing,  among  your  divines,  and 
Daniel  Webster,  among  your  statesmen,  have  a  prose 
style  of  unsurpassed  excellence.  In  poetry,  Mr.  Bryant 
has  not  been  behind  any  British  writer  of  this  cen- 
tury. I  do  not  need  to  speak  of  Mr.  Irving's  writings, 
for  they  are  as  well  thought  of  in  England  as  they  are 
in  America.  I  have  heard  Sir  Walter  Scott  refer  to 
both  Mr.  Cooper  and  Mr.  Irving  in  the  strongest  terms 
of  regard." 

"  You  knew  Sir  Walter,  then  ?"  asked  Mr.  Irving. 

"  Yes,  I  was  much  in  Spain  and  Portugal  during  the 
Peninsular  War,  and  it  happened  that  when  Scott  was 
writing  his  '  Vision  of  Don  Eoderick,'  I  was  mentioned 
to  him  as  a  person  who  could  give  him  local  informa- 
tion about  some  of  the  scenes  that  he  meant  to  touch 
in  that  poem.  One  or  two  letters  passed  between  us, 
but  it  was  not  until  after  your  visit  to  Abbotsford,  in 
1817,  that  I  was  there.  I  happened  to  meet  Scott  in 
London  in  1815,  and  he  then  invited  me  to  spend  two 
days  at  Abbotsford  whenever  it  should  suit  my  con- 
venience ;  but  it  was  not  convenient  for  me  to  go  there 
until  1819.  During  my  short  stay  he  spoke  often  of 
you,  Mr.  Irving,  and  of  Mr.  Cooper,  and  Mr.  Ticknor, 
of  Boston.  But  I  think,  Mr.  Cooper,  that  Scott  did 
not  make  your  acquaintance  until  you  met  in  Paris  in 
1826  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Cooper,  "  he  called  upon  me  in  Paris, 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  YORK.  87 

and  I  afterwards  breakfasted  with  him  at  his  hotel.  I 
tried  to  find  out  from  him  whether  Captain  Basil  Hall 
was  as  much  of  a  seaman  as  he  appeared  to  be  in  his 
writings.  But  Sir  Walter  rather  evaded  the  question. 
Did  you  know  Captain  Hall  ?" 

"  No,  I  never  saw  him ;  and  if  I  had,  as  I  have  never 
been  a  seaman,  although  I  have  been  much  at  sea,  I 
could  not  judge  of  Captain  Hall's  accomplishments  in 
his  profession.     He  certainly  wrote  entertaining  books." 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  Lord  Byron  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bryant. 

"  I  was  at  Missolonghi  when  he  died,  but  I  did  not 
know  him.  His  effort  to  do  something  for  the  cause 
of  the  Greeks  was  from  a  very  noble  impulse,  and  I 
concur  in  Mr.  Moore's  belief  that,  if  he  had  lived,  his 
character  would  have  developed  into  something  worthy 
of  his  abilities  and  that  would  have  atoned  for  his  pre- 
vious life.  But  the  independence  of  G-reece  was  then 
an  impossibility.     Europe  was  not  ready  for  it." 

At  this  mention  of  the  affairs  of  G-reece  it  occurred 
to  several  of  the  gentlemen  present  that  the  name  of 
this  stranger  was  distinctly  G-reek,  and  more  than  one 
was  on  the  point  of  asking  some  question  that  might 
have  led  him  to  give  an  account  of  himself.  But  his 
manner  rendered  it  doubtful  whether  such  a  question 
would  not  seem  to  transcend  the  limits  of  politeness. 
He  had  been  received  by  the  host  as  a  gentleman,  but 
as  one  having  no  known  nationality,  and  he  had  been 
presented  to  the  company  simply  as  a  citizen  of  the 
world.  This,  however,  did  not  preclude  all  efforts  to 
learn  how  such  a  person,  of  such  apparently  varied  ex- 
perience and  extensive  acquaintance  with  men  and 
things,  would  view  American  society.  Mr.  Cooper, 
nothing  daunted  by  the  presence  of  the  pugnacious  Mr. 
Webb,  who  was  not  more  pugnacious  than  himself, 
tried  the  stranger  on  the  American  press. 

"  I  have  had  but  little  occasion,"  said  Mr.  Charaxes, 
"  to  read  American  newspapers  at  any  time  in  my  life, 
excepting  for  commercial  purposes  and  matters  of 
finance ;  and  having  been  here  now  for  only  a  few 
days,  I  have  really  had  no  opportunity  to  observe  the 
tone  of  your  press." 


88  JOHN  charAxes. 

("He  has  been  in  commerce,"  Mr.  Webb  said  to  him- 
self; "  I  must  find  out  more  about  him.") 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Cooper,  "  I  must  warn  you  that 
our  liberty  of  the  press  is  shockingly  abused.  There 
is  no  fairness,  no  dignity.  In  literary  criticism  there 
is  nothing  but  a  shallow  audacity  and  a  shameless 
mendacity.  Our  law  of  libel  is  administered  by  judges 
Tvho  stand  in  awe  of  the  newspapers,  and  our  juries  are 
composed  of  men  who  can  have  no  sympathy  with  an 
injured  author.  In  politics  there  is  nothing  but  a  sav- 
age and  coarse  abuse  of  the  opposite  party  ;  no  dis- 
cussion of  principles,  no  proper  treatment  of  public 
measures  or  public  men." 

"  You  present  rather  a  dark  picture,  Mr.  Cooper,"  re- 
plied Charaxes,  "  but  is  there  not  reason  to  hope  that, 
as  your  country  expands  and  the  people  increase  in 
numbers  and  intelligence,  they  will  come  to  be  less  un- 
der the  influence  of  the  press  and  to  act  more  upon 
their  own  judgment?" 

"  Possibly,"  said  Mr.  Webb,  "  Mr.  Cooper's  feelings 
are  a  little  tinged  by  his  personal  experience  with 
papers  that  have  treated  him  unfairly.  But  you  will 
find,  sir,  literature  aside,  if  you  remain  long  among  us, 
that  our  government  is  one  that  must  be  administered 
by  a  successful  party ;  in  politics  there  can  be  no  suc- 
cess without  party  discipline,  vigorous  political  warfare, 
and  unsparing  criticism  of  public  men.  Study  ourelec- 
tions,  sir,  if  you  care  to  know  what  the  press  has  to  do 
in  promoting  the  public  welfare  according  to  the  con- 
victions of  its  conductors." 

"  It  may  be,  Mr.  Webb,"  Charaxes  modestly  observed, 
"  that  there  is  a  great  deal  in  what  you  say ;  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  there  is  just  now  a  topic  that  is  rising  into 
great  importance  in  this  country,  and  that  ought  to  be 
handled  without  any  reference  to  party  objects  or  party 
success,  and  with  the  utmost  circumspection.  I  learned 
before  I  came  over  that  an  agitation  has  been  recently 
begun  in  some  of  your  Northern  States  on  the  subject 
of  slavery  in  the  South.  I  am  quite  aware  of  the  con- 
stitutional limitations  which,  in  your  form  of  govern- 
ment, prohibit  any  external  interference  with  the  do- 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  FORK.  89 

mestic  institutions  of  the  separate  States.  But  if  this 
anti-slavery  agitation  should  assume  formidable  pro- 
portions and  be  carried  on  from  a  position  outside  of 
your  fundamental  law,  will  your  Constitution  be  able 
to  withstand  the  shock  ?  If  I  remain  long  in  America 
I  shall  be  much  interested  to  observe  how  you  will 
encounter  this  trial." 

"  You  need  be  under  no  apprehension,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
"Webb  ;  "  the  abolitionists  who  have  started  this  cru- 
sade are  a  set  of  fanatics,  whom  the  people  are  not  dis- 
posed to  follow.  Public  opinion  is  sound  on  this  sub- 
ject. No  one  of  any  sense  thinks  it  necessary  to  put 
the  arm  of  the  law  in  motion  to  restrain  them.  There 
may  be  here  and  there,  in  little  localities,  a  few  votes 
to  be  conciliated  by  local  politicians  running  for  local 
oflSces.  But  the  subject  will  be  kept  out  of  our  national 
politics  and  our  national  elections." 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  so,"  said  the  stranger  ;  "  but  fanatics 
have  sometimes  done  a  great  deal  by  the  sheer  force  of 
their  fanaticism  when  they  have  appealed  to  the  relig- 
ious and  moral  feelings  of  a  free  people.  If,  by  chance, 
this  question  should  become  one  in  your  national  poli- 
tics, I  do  not  see  how  your  public  men  are  to  evade  it. 
But  it  is  not  for  me  to  offer  opinions  on  this  subject  to 
such  a  company  as  this.  I  only  meant  to  express  what 
must  strike  any  foreigner  who  comes  among  you,  the 
certainty  that  your  Constitution  requires  one  thing, 
and  that  another  thing  may  be  reached  by  methods 
that  lie  wholly  outside  of  your  political  institutions  and 
public  compacts." 

These  observations,  although  made  without  the  slight- 
est warmth,  and  the  uncertainty  respecting  the  stran- 
ger's real  character  and  his  object  in  coming  to  America, 
led  to  a  momentary  suspicion  with  some  of  the  gentle- 
men present  whether  he  might  not  have  come  with  a 
purpose  to  take  some  part  on  the  one  side  or  the  other  of 
this  delicate  subject.  But  he  appeared  to  be  so  evi- 
dently a  mere  traveller,  taking  about  as  much  interest 
in  one  topic  as  in  another,  that  the  slight  suspicion 
passed  off,  more  especially  as  the  well-certified  wealth 
of  the  gentleman  seemed  to  preclude  the  idea  of  his 

8* 


90  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

being  an  emissary  of  any  sort,  or  anything  but  a  bigbly 
intelligent  and  observing  man  of  the  world  visiting  the 
United  States  for  his  own  amusement. 

Before  the  compan}^  separated,  Mr.  Irving  asked  the 
foreign  gentleman  if  he  intended  visiting  Boston  ;  and 
on  being  informed  that  such  was  his  purpose,  the 
amiable  author  of  the  "Sketch  Book"  asked  him  if  he 
would  do  him  the  honor  to  take  a  letter  to  Mr.  William 
H.  Prescott.  This  civility  was  thankfully  accepted,  and 
before  Mr.  Charaxes  left  New  York  the  letter  came  for 
him.  Necessarily,  it  could  give  no  other  information 
than  Mr.  Irving  had  learned  concerning  this  strans^er, 
but  it  spoke  of  his  having  been  well  received  in  New 
York,  and  as  a  person  worthy  to  be  as  well  received 
in  Boston. 

On  the  evening  after  that  of  his  arrival  in  Boston,  Mr. 
Charaxes  happened  to  be  passing  a  hall  at  the  door  of 
which  was  a  placard  announcing  an  anti-slavery  meeting. 
He  stepped  in  and  took  a  seat  near  the  entrance.  The 
small  audience  was  composed  of  both  men  and  women, 
the  latter  predominating.  Soon  after  the  stranger  en- 
tered a  young  man  came  forward  on  the  platform  to 
speak  to  the  resolution  which  was  before  the  meeting. 
He  was  apparently  about  twenty-eight  years  of  age; 
tall,  of  a  most  symmetrical  figure,  a  handsome  counte- 
nance, and  a  refined  and  rather  aristocratic  bearing. 
Grace  and  polish  were  in  every  movement  and  gesture. 
His  voice  was  rich  and  perfectly  modulated.  It  was 
evident  that  he  must  have  been  accustomed  to  public 
speaking  from  a  very  early  age :  he  was  so  easy  and 
self-possessed.  Nature  had  done  everything  for  him  in 
externals,  and  the  gift  of  graceful  delivery,  cultivated 
from  his  boyhood,  had  made  him  one  of  the  most 
finished  declaimers  that  ever  trod  a  public  platform. 
His  enunciation  was  perfectly  distinct,  and  nothing 
could  exceed  the  grammatical  correctness  of  his  rounded 
sentences.  He  was  evidently  a  scholar,  for  his  com- 
mand of  language  and  illustration  was  quite  beyond 
what  is  commonly  found  in  the  kind  of  oratory  which 
he  affected.  When  Mr.  Charaxes  heard  this  person  he 
was  just  entering  upon  his  career  as  an  anti-slavery 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  YORK.  91 

agitator,  which  lasted  as  long  as  there  was  any  slavery 
left  in  the  land.  He  belonged  to  an  old  Boston  family 
of  some  distinction,  and  the  circumstances  of  his  birth, 
education,  and  social  surroundings  singled  him  out  in 
the  estimation  of  his  new  associates  as  a  person  who 
had  embraced  the  cause  of  the  slave  from  the  noblest 
"of  motives,  when  he  might  naturally  have  disdained  or 
neglected  all  such  philanthropic  movements.  He  was 
educated  as  a  lawyer  and  had  begun  to  practise  that 
profession  ;  but  he  renounced  it,  because,  when  admitted 
to  the  bar,  he  had  been  obliged  to  take  an  oath  to  support 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  He  considered 
that  a  renunciation  of  his  privilege  of  practising  in  the 
courts  absolved  him  from  the  obligations  of  that  oath. 
On  the  present  occasion  the  burden  of  his  speech 
seemed  to  be  an  effort  to  show  that  the  Federal  Consti- 
tution was,  as  the  abolitionists  universally  regarded  it, 
"  a  league  with  death  and  a  covenant  with  hell."  It 
was  most  striking  to  hear  this  kind  of  denunciation 
poured  forth  in  the  choicest  rhetoric,  without  much  ex- 
citement of  manner,  but  in  words  of  a  certain  vitupera- 
tive sting.  His  harangue  was  addressed  to  an  audience 
composed  wholly  of  New-Englanders,  whose  ancestors, 
of  not  more  than  two  generations  back,  had  made  those 
public  compacts  with  the  people  of  the  Southern  States 
which  to  a  certain  extent  recognized  and  upheld  the 
slavery  existing  in  those  States.  For  a  long  time  before 
this  kind  of  denunciation  began  the  prosperity  of  New 
England,  and  especially  of  Massachusetts,  had  largely 
depended  on  manufactures  of  cotton,  in  which  a  great 
deal  of  wealth  was  invested  ;  and  it  suited  the  abo- 
litionists to  couple  the  Northern  manufacturers  of  the 
great  Southern  vStaple  as  in  league  with  its  producers 
to  perpetuate  the  bondage  of  the  Southern  slaves. 
There  was  neither  logic  nor  sense  in  this  vituperation  ; 
but  logic  and  sound  reasoning  were  never  a  charac- 
teristic of  this  orator,  either  in  his  youth,  his  middle 
age,  or  to  the  close  of  his  life.  He  was  a  splendid  de- 
clamatory rhetorician,  whose  well-turned  periods  fasci- 
nated people  in  whom  the  emotions  were  stronger 
than  the  reflective  faculties.     In  the  speech  to  which 


92  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

Mr.  Chai-axes  listened,  the  orator  delighted  his  audience 
immensely  by  speaking  of  the  "lords  of  the  loom  and 
the  lords  of  the  lash."  The  most  vociferous  applause 
followed  this  sally,  and  it  became  a  favorite  phrase  of 
local  significance.  To  the  stranger  who  heard  it  it 
opened  a  coming  social  division  in  a  community  where 
the  owners  of  great  establishments,  on  which  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  depended  the  general  prosperity,  could  be 
assailed  as  oppressors  of  the  poor  African.  It  was  one 
of  those  minor  causes  which  led  to  the  local  growth  of 
a  strong  anti-slavery  excitement,  before  anything  had 
occurred  to  evince  a  purpose  in  the  South  to  extend  the 
area  of  their  peculiar  institution  by  special  measures. 
At  present  the  mass  of  the  New  England  people  were 
not  disposed  to  sympathize  in  these  attacks  upon  men 
of  wealth,  whose  capital  and  energy  had  done  so  much 
for  the  promotion  of  the  general  prosperity  and  for  all 
the  local  objects  of  education  and  benevolence.  But  the 
dragon's  teeth  were  sowing. 

Another  of  this  young  orator's  denunciations  was 
directed  against  the  churches,  which  he  accused  not 
only  of  lukewarmness  in  the  cause  of  the  slave,  but 
of  actual  and  unchristian  complicity  with  the  slaves' 
oppressors.  This  was  one  of  his  popular  topics,  treated, 
as  usual,  with  an  abundane  of  rhetoric  and  sarcasm. 
When  Charaxes  left  that  meeting  he  had  heard  a  person 
w^ho  was  afterwards  a  very  shining  light  in  the  galaxy 
of  the  anti-slavery  agitators,  and  who  was  by  far  the 
most  effective  popular  orator  among  them  all.  The 
stranger  had  also,  with  his  usual  acumen,  perceived  how 
this  agitation,  from  its  small  beginnings,  was  tending  to 
the  result  which  he  had  delicately  foreshadowed  at  the 
dinner-table  of  the  New  York  banker  ;  a  result  which 
he  had  rightty  apprehended  as  popular  action  outside 
of  the  obligations  of  public  compacts  and  constitutional 
restraints.  It  wastherefore  with  still  stronger  interest 
and  with  some  further  insight  into  this  very  important 
subject  that  he  determined  to  learn  more  at  his  first  op- 
portunity. In  a  few  days  he  found  himself  in  the  com- 
pany of  some  of  the  same  men  whom  he  had  heard  the 
anti-slavery  orator  denounce. 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  YORK.  93 

Dinners,  the  world  over,  are  the  most  convenient  and 
agreeable  mode  of  showing  attention  to  strangers,  at 
least  of  the  male  sex.  They  have  been  no  less  so  in 
Boston  than  elsewhere,  time  out  of  mind.  They  are 
almost  invariably  the  response  to  letters  of  introduc- 
tion when  the  introducing  missive  is  not  confined  to 
business  purposes.  When  Mr.  Charaxes  visited  Boston 
I  had  the  honor  to  be  among  the  younger  acquaintances 
of  the  author  of  "  Ferdinand  and  Isabella."  He  lived 
at  that  time  with  his  venerable  father  and  mother,  in 
a  fine  old-fashioned  house  on  Bedford  Street,  long  since 
demolished.  It  was  mere  kindness  towards  an  undis- 
tinguished young  man — characteristic  of  Mr.  Prescott — 
for  him  to  invite  me  to  the  dinner  that  he  gave  to  Mr. 
Charaxes,  whom  I  then  saw  for  the  first  time,  and  of 
whom  I  knew  a  great  deal  in  subsequent  years.  The 
company  was  not  so  large  as  that  at  the  house  of  the 
New  York  banker,  and  the  dinner,  although  elegant, 
was  more  simple.  Judge  Prescott,  the  father  of  the 
historian ;  Mr.  Jared  Sparks ;  Chief  Justice  Shaw,  of 
the  Supreme  Court  of  Massachusetts;  Mr.  Franklin 
Dexter,  a  very  distinguished  lawyer,  brother-in-law  of 
Mr.  Prescott ;  and  one  or  two  of  the  great  manufac- 
turers, men  of  far  wider  intellectual  range  than  is  often 
to  be  found  in  the  ranks  of  commerce  and  business,  com- 
posed the  party.  Mr.  Ticknor,  Mr.  Prescott's  most 
intimate  friend,  whose  "Life  of  Prescott"  is  so  well 
known,  was  at  this  time  in  Europe.  Mr.  Prescott  re- 
ceived his  guests  in  his  library,  where,  over  the  fire- 
place, were  crossed  two  swords,  one  worn  by  his  grand- 
father at  Bunker  Hill,  the  other  was  worn  by  Captain 
Linzee,  of  H.  M.  sloop-of-war  "  Falcon,"  which  lay  in 
the  river  and  cannonaded  the  American  redoubt  dur- 
ing the  battle. 

The  subject  that  had  been  lightly  touched  at  the  din- 
ner in  New  York  was  then  beginning  to  be  very 
anxiously  considered  by  the  class  of  men  in  Boston 
who  were  represented  around  Mr.  Prescott's  table. 
Prescott  himself,  although  by  no  means  indifferent  to 
the  public  welfare,  was  a  scholar,  and  his  "  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella"  had  been  very  recently  published.     His 


94  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

father  was  a  singularly  wise  and  observing  person  of 
the  Federal  school  of  politics.  He  had  seen  with  great 
concern  the  beginning  of  the  anti-slavery  agitation 
which  had  sprung  up  in  New  England  and  was  likely 
to  bring  about  very  grave  questions  respecting  the 
limits  of  free  discussion. 

Charaxes  was  anxious  to  hear  this  gentleman's  views 
on  so  important  a  topic,  and  an  opportunity  soon  offered. 

"  You  seem,  sir,  to  have  observed,"  said  the  elder  Mr. 
Prescott,  "  that  the  persons  who  have  precipitated  this 
inflammatory  topic  are  determined  to  pay  no  heed  to 
the  civil  obligations  imposed  by  our  fundamental  law. 
This  is  exciting  a  disapprobation  of  their  proceedings, 
their  methods  and  writings,  which  breaks  out  occasion- 
ally in  popular  violence  against  their  persons  and 
presses,  so  that  there  is  really  arising  a  question  of  the 
limits  of  free  discussion.  These  so-called  'abolitionists' 
assume  the  attitude  of  martyrs  to  a  principle  and  to  the 
rights  of  free  speech.  Their  doctrine,  when  carried 
out,  dissolves  the  bonds  of  society  and  uproots  the 
foundations  of  civil  obedience." 

"  This  is  plain  enough,  Judge  Prescott,"  said  the 
stranger.  "  But  does  your  law  afford  no  means  of 
checking  a  kind  of  discussion  and  action  that  borders 
upon  revolution  and  may  end  in  it?  I.  should  not  think 
of  suggesting  that  under  some  governments  on  the 
continent  of  Europe  such  means  would  readily  be 
found ;  nor  should  I  point  you  to  what  was  done  in 
England  when  the  doctrines  of  the  French  Eevolution 
were  threatening  that  government.  But  you  have  a 
well-defined  Constitution  and  a  government  that  does 
not  lack  strength  within  its  appropriate  sphere.  Have 
you  made  up  your  minds  that  this  thing  must  go  on  ?'' 

"Perhaps,"  said  Judge  Prescott,  "the  chief  justice 
will  answer  your  question.  We  are  all  accustomed  to 
rely  on  his  views,  when  they  do  not  involve  his  judicial 
functions ;  and  when  they  do,  we  know  that  the  oracle 
of  the  law  has  spoken." 

"  You  will  appreciate  the  difficulty,  sir,"  said  the 
chief  justice,  "  when  you  come  to  learn  more  of  our 
institutions.     It  might  appear,  at  first,  that  when  a 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  FORK.  95 

written  Constitution  has  established  a  Union  of  States, 
otherwise  independent  of  each  other,  and  has  made 
certain  public  compacts  between  them,  there  ought  to 
be  some  power  to  restrain  popular  action  that  is  in 
direct  violation  of  these  compacts.  But  then  you  must 
recollect  that  our  existence  as  an  independent  people 
was  obtained  by  a  revolution,  which  could  not  have 
been  accomplished  without  the  utmost  freedom  of  dis- 
cussion in  all  its  forms.  Moreover,  after  our  national 
Constitution  was  adopted  the  national  legislature  was 
expressly  forbidden  to  make  any  laws  abridging  the 
freedom  of  speech  or  of  the  press.  This  was  done  im- 
mediately, by  an  amendment  of  the  Constitution  in  the 
mode  provided  by  itself.  So  that  we  are  a  peoj^le 
among  whom  it  is  very  difficult  to  find  any  but  moral 
limits  to  the  rights  of  free  discussion,  and  of  those  indi- 
viduals must  judge  for  themselves." 

"As  a  general  statement,  Mr.  Chief  Justice,"  said 
Charaxes,  "  I  can  understand  this  view  of  your  institu- 
tions. But  how  is  it  in  regard  to  such  attacks  as  I  have 
heard  and  read  upon  the  institutions  themselves  ?  Is 
there  no  way  of  restraining  those  who  teach  that  your 
national  Constitution  embraces  public  compacts  that 
ought  to  be  instantly  repudiated  because  they  were 
grossly  immoral  in  their  inception  and  have  ever  since 
violated  the  duties  which  men  owe  to  God  and  to  their 
fellows  ?" 

"  Some  of  us,"  replied  the  chief  justice,  "  have  anx- 
iously considered  the  question  which  you  put,  and, 
without  speaking  for  others,  I  will  give  you  the  con- 
clusions which  I  have  myself  reached.  Our  complex 
form  of  government  is  perhaps  well  known  to  you  in 
its  general  outline.  So  much  of  recognition  as  has 
been  given  by  our  national  Constitution  to  the  slavery 
that  exists  in  our  Southern  States  involves  a  right  to 
enumerate  the  slaves  in  a  certain  ratio  in  the  popula- 
tion on  which  is  based  the  representation  of  those 
States  in  the  lower  house  of  Congress,  and  in  a  stipula- 
tion that  fugitives  from  servitude  escaping  into  a  State 
where  such  servitude  does  not  exist  shall  be  returned. 
But  then  you  must  observe  that  in  these  respects,  as  in 


96  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

others,  the  Constitution  is  subject  to  change,  by  a 
I^rocess  of  amendment ;  and  the  persons  who  are  now 
beginning  this  agitation  may  say  that  a  conviction  of 
the  sin  of  slavery  must  precede  any  efforts  to  amend 
the  fundamental  law  or  to  get  rid  of  the  public  com- 
pacts?" 

"Yes,"  said  Charaxes,  "they  may  say  this;  but,  as 
far  as  I  can  learn,  they  are  not  agitating  to  bring  about 
amendments  of  the  Constitution.  They  wish  to  break 
up  the  Union.  They  insist  that  the  wrong  and  the  sin 
of  slavery  are  so  glaring  and  gross  that  there  must  be 
immediate  emancipation,  regardless  of  the  mode  in 
which  it  is  brought  about,  or  else  that  your  JSTorthern 
States  must  separate  from  the  Southern.  If  the  blacks 
have  sufficient  intelligence  to  understand  what  is  main- 
tained here  at  the  North  in  their  behalf,  why  does  not 
all  this  tend  directly  to  invite  insurrection  ?  And  if 
this  is  its  tendency,  must  you  fold  your  hands  and  let 
it  go  on,  when  it  is  a  plain  violation  of  the  public  com- 
pacts which  you  made-  with  the  people  of  the  slave- 
holding  States  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  answered  the  chief  justice,  "it  is  a 
violation  of  the  spirit  of  the  Constitution,  and  the 
danger  is  that  the  people  of  the  South  will  regard  it  as 
a  violation  of  the  letter,  and  will  demand  the  adoption 
of  measures  to  check  it.  But  such  measures  must  be 
for  the  consideration  of  the  national  government.  Our 
State  governments  can  do  nothing  to  restrain  the 
license  of  free  speech  or  free  printing,  unless  the  abuse 
of  the  freedom  comes  within  the  law  of  libel." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  understand  this  matter  as  you 
have  explained  it,"  said  Charaxes ;  "  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  have  heard  attacks  upon  some  of  you  gentlemen, 
not  by  name  but  by  pretty  plain  designation,  which  in- 
clude some  of  you  in  the  imputation  of  direct  complicity 
in  the  sin  of  slavery.  This  is  all  absurd  enough,  and 
you  must  excuse  my  alluding  to  it.  But  what  is  to  be 
the  social  effect  of  this  in  such  a  community  as  yours  ?" 

One  of  the  gentlemen  thus  appealed  to,  a  calm  but 
very  intelligent  person,  replied,  "I  suppose  the  only 
effect  will  be  that  we  cannot  open  our  houses  to  persons 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NE]V  FORK.  97 

who  thus  assail  us.  We  have  devoted  our  means  and  our 
energies  to  what  we  believe  to  be  the  best  interests  of  our 
community,  and  we  give  employment  to  a  great  many 
people.  We  cannot  close  our  establishments  because  the 
material  that  we  work  up  is  produced  by  the  labor  of 
slaves,  over  whoso  emancipation  we  have  no  control." 

"  This  is  plain  enough,"  said  Charaxes,  "  but  among 
the  slave-holders  themselves  what  has  been  done  of  late 
3^ears  in  regard  to  emancipation  ?  The  world  is  ap- 
proaching a  condition  in  which  the  economical  and  the 
moral  aspect  of  slavery  will  be  something  very  different 
from  what  it  has  been." 

"  Something  was  about  to  be  done,"  replied  the  gen- 
tleman who  had  now  joined  in  the  conversation,  "and  it 
was  of  great  importance.  It  may  be  worth  your  while 
to  read  a  debate  which  took  place  in  the  Legislature  of 
Virginia  in  the  year  1832,  just  before  the  anti-slavery 
agitation  began  at  the  Korth.  The  slave-holders  of  that 
State  were  on  the  eve  of  passing  measures  to  colonize 
the  free  negroes,  and  they  contemplated  other  measures 
looking  to  the  emancipation  of  the  slaves.  ]^owhero 
have  the  evils  of  slavery  been  more  forcibly  and  plainly 
discussed  than  they  were  in  that  debate.  But  before 
there  could  be  any  action  there  suddenly  came  intelli- 
gence of  the  formation  of  anti-slavery  societies  in  three 
of  the  free  States,  and  the  establishment  of  a  press  that 
openly  advocated  a  dissolution  of  the  Union  because  the 
national  Constitution  gave  a  certain  sanction  and  se- 
curity to  slavery  in  the  Southern  States.  As  a  matter 
of  course,  this  checked  all  tendency  in  the  South  to  con- 
sider the  expediency  or  the  practicability  of  getting  rid 
of  slaver}',  and  brought  about  a  tendency  to  extend  its 
area  and  strengthen  the  political  power  of  the  slave- 
holding  States.  The  real  impetus  to  a  further  increase 
of  the  number  of  slave  States  for  political  reasons,  that 
is,  in  order  to  defend  slavery  as  an  institution,  dates  from 
that  period,  and  it  is  now  impossible  to  foresee  how  far 
this  impetus  will  go.  Previous  to  this  the  cultivation 
of  cotton  and  a  few  other  staples  formed  the  principal 
motive  for  carrying  slave-labor  into  other  regions.  But 
the  desire  to  secure  more  political  power  in  the  Union, 
^9  9 


98  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

as  a  means  of  resisting  the  aggressions  of  the  anti- 
slavery  agitators,  is  now  added  to  the  producing  and 
economic  objects  of  the  planting  interests." 

"  This  is  very  unfortunate,"  said  Charaxes,  "  and,  as 
you  say,  it  must  be  impossible  to  foresee  where  it  will 
end.  One  thing,  however,  seems  clear  to  me  ;  but  I 
speak  with  deference  to  the  better  judgment  of  3'ou 
gentlemen,  who  know  a  great  deal  more  about  this 
matter  than  any  foreigner  can.  But  it  strikes  me  that 
this  may  be  the  course  of  things :  If  no  means  can  be 
found  for  putting  a  stop  to  this  unwarrantable  inter- 
ference, and  I  think  I  see  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
that,  what  between  the  political  interests  and  the  sup- 
posed or  real  pecuniary  interests  of  the  South,  and  the 
resistance  of  the  North,  this  subject,  which  should  be 
kept  out  of  party  action,  will  be  forced  into  the  political 
field.  The  result  will  be  a  crisis  in  which  there  may 
come  about  finally  a  sectional  division  in  your  national 
elections.  What  that  might  end  in  no  human  prophecy 
it  seems  to  me  can  foretell.  Your  Northern  statesmen, 
In  maintaining  their  personal  standing  at  home,  will  be 
much  embarrassed ;  the  Southern  statesmen  will  be 
much  less  so,  because  they  will  have  a  united  people 
behind  them.  But  I  crave  your  pardon,  gentlemen, 
for  suggesting  that  your  country  is  in  some  peril.  I 
trust  most  sincerely  that  the  people  and  public  men  of 
your  whole  Union  will  find  some  way  to  avoid  it.  Your 
republic  is  almost  the  last  refuge  of  liberty,  and  your 
country  is  a  magnificent  one.  As  well  as  I  can  under- 
stand your  history,  I  do  not  think  that  the  founders  of 
your  government  acted  unwisely  or  inconsistently  in 
making  a  Union  of  slave  and  free  States,  for  they  were 
compelled  to  do  so  by  imperative  necessities.  It  is,  I 
believe,  true  that  your  national  Constitution  could  not 
have  been  made  without  what  are  called  the  slavery 
compromises.  Whether  it  can  be  preserved,  now  that 
its  provisions  are  assailed  in  the  way  that  has  been  en- 
tered upon,  is  the  question  of  this  day." 

"  Our  hope  is,"  said  the  elder  Mr.  Prescott,  "  that  the 
great  mass  of  the  people  of  all  parts  of  our  country  will 
continue  to  regard  the  agitators  as  guides  whom  they 


A  STRANGER  LANDS  AT  NEW  FORK.  99 

ought  not  to  follow.  But  we  cannot  tell  what  may  be 
the  influence  of  their  persistency  and  their  inflamma- 
tory appeals." 

"  I  should  think,"  answered  Charaxes,  "  that  much 
would  depend  upon  the  power  of  your  principal  states- 
men in  the  Xorth  to  hold  the  people  to  sober  and  con- 
servative action.  If  these  agitators  once  become  suffi- 
ciently strong  to  compel  or  induce  political  men  to 
seek  for  popular  local  favor  through  any  of  the  aspects 
in  which  slavery  may  present  itself,  great  mischief  will 
inevitably  ensue." 

At  this  time,  although  I  had  lived  in  Boston  for  sev- 
eral years,  I  had  not  had  many  opportunities  for  lis- 
tening to  the  conversation  of  such  men  as  those  who 
were  at  Mr.  Prescott's  dinner.  I  was  then  an  assistant 
editor  of  a  daily  paper;  having  charge  of  the  literary 
department,  I  became  known  to  Mr.  Prescott  and  to  Mr. 
Ticknor,  both  of  whom  were  exceedingly  kind  to  young 
men  in  any  way  connected  with  literature.  I  had  a 
little  reputation  as  a  scholar,  which  helped  me  to  know 
persons  who  might  otherwise  not  have  noticed  me.  I 
regretted  very  much  Mr.  Ticknor's  absenx^e  from  Boston 
at  this  time,  for  I  wished  to  accompany  Mr.  Charaxes 
on  a  visit  to  that  gentleman's  remarkable  library,  more 
especially  that  he  might  see  the  portrait  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  that  hung  for  so  many  years  over  the  fireplace 
in  that  beautiful  room ;  and  my  acquaintance  with 
Mr.  Ticknor  would  have  justified  my  calling  with  this 
stranger.  But  his  house  was  then  occupied  by  a  gen- 
tleman to  whom  I  was  not  known,  and  to  whom  Mr. 
Charaxes  did  not  bring  letters. 

I  was  so  much  impressed  by  the  convei'sation  which 
I  heard  at  Mr.  Prescott's  that  I  made  a  note  of  its  most 
important  parts  and  put  it  away.  I  had  not  looked  at 
it  until  I  began  to  write  these  memoirs  of  my  friends. 
The  conversation  at  the  jSTew  York  banker's  table  was 
written  out  and  sent  to  me  by  a  friend  of  mine,  a  New 
England  gentleman,  who  heard  it,  and  this,  too,  I  laid 
away  at  the  time. 

On  the  day  after  Mr.  Prescott's  dinner  I  called  upon 
Mr.  Charaxes  at  the  Tremont  House,  and  he  described 


100  JOHN   CHARAXES. 

to  me  the  anti-slavery  meeting  at  which  he  was  a  spec- 
tator on  the  evening  following  his  arrival  in  Boston. 
He  said  that  he  heard  a  young  orator  there  who  seemed 
to  have  remarkable  gifts,  which  he  thought  would 
probably  not  be  as  well  used  as  they  ought  to  be.  He 
told  me  that  he  expected  to  make  an  extensive  tour 
through  the  United  States,  and  I  gave  him  some  infor- 
mation which  he  was  kind  enough  to  say  would  be 
useful  to  him.  He  did  not  know  how  long  he  should 
remain  in  this  country.  He  had  come  merely  for 
amusement  and  observation.  If  he  found  a  pleasant 
place  of  residence,  he  might  remain,  but  probably  not 
in  the  South,  for  he  did  not  think  the  Southern  climate 
would  suit  him,  and  he  did  not  care  to  settle  in  a  slave- 
holding  State,  although  he  should  certainly  learn  all 
that  a  traveller  could  of  the  state  of  society  in  that  re- 
gion. He  left  Boston  on  the  following  day.  At  this  time 
I  did  not  know  where  Henry  Brewster  was.  If  I  had 
I  should  have  written  and  asked  my  friend  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  this  interesting  stranger,  in  case  he 
should  have  an  opportunity. 


CHAPTEE  YII. 

ISABEL   AT   GASCOIGNE    HOUSE. 

Marmaduke,  fourteenth  Earl  Gascoigne  and  Yis- 
count  Eunnymede,  of  Gascoigne  Manor,  County  Hants, 
was  a  nobleman  of  very  ancient  lineage.  His  second 
title  was  supposed  to  imply  that  his  remote  ancestor 
of  King  John's  reign  took  a  conspicuous  part  in  the 
doings  of  the  barons  when  Magna  Charta  was  extorted 
from  that  monarch.  But  if  this  were  really  the  fact, 
the  Gascoigne  of  that  period  was  the  only  one  of  the 
family  who  ever  did  anything  of  much  importance. 
The  present  earl  had  succeeded  to  an  estate  which  his 
grandfather  left  in  almost  irretrievable  embarrassment, 
by  reason  of  his  having  squandered  a  great  deal  of 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  101 

money  on  the  turf,  besides  gambling  against  the  same 
set  who  won  incredible  sums  from  Charles  James  Fox 
when  that  celebrated  statesman  was  a  mere  boy.  But 
this  Gascoigne,  who  frequented  White's  in  Fox's  time, 
had  no  rich  father  ready,  like  the  first  Lord  Holland, 
to  pay  his  son's  gambling  debts  and  bid  him  go  again 
and  do  likewise.  The  father  of  the  present  earl  had 
never  been  able  to  rescue  the  family  property  from  the 
incumbrances  with  which  the  card-playing  and  horse- 
racing  grandsire  had  loaded  it.  All  that  he  could  ac- 
complish— and  he  could  not  alwaj's  do  it — was  to  keep 
down  the  interest;  and  more  than  once  considerable 
farms  passed  into  the  hands  of  other  owners.  The 
estate  was  still  a  large  one,  however,  when  Lord  Mar- 
niaduke  succeeded,  to  the  property  and  the  title,  but 
the  rents  were  equal  to  very  little  more  than  the  in- 
terest on  the  debts  with  which  the  land  was  charged. 
The  tenants  were  of  that  class  of  British  farmers  w^ho 
never  knew  any  more  about  farming  than  their  fathers 
knew.  They  were  forever  contending  with  their  land- 
lords for  a  reduction  of  rents,  not  knowing  how  a 
higher  rent  may  be  made  advantageous  to  both  tenant 
and  landlord,  by  improving  the  methods  of  cultivation. 
Scarcely  a  rent-day  came  round  that  did  not  end  in  a 
most  unsatisfactory  state  of  feeling  on  both  sides.  Still, 
very  few  of  the  tenants  gave  up  their  holdings  when 
their  leases  fell  in  ;  and  if  they  had  done  so.  there  were 
no  other  farmers  ready  to  step  in  and  take  their  places, 
because  the  estate  was  so  much  embarrassed  that  bar- 
gains advantageous  to  both  parties  could  not  be  made. 
This  impoverished  but  very  noble  family,  w^ho  seemed 
destined  to  live  on  in  a  way  most  unbecoming  to  their 
rank,  were  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  but  their  pride  was  un- 
accompanied by  the  kind  of  energy  that  might  have 
lifted  them  out  of  this  fallen  condition. 

Earl  Marmaduke  had  three  sons  and  three  daughters. 
The  eldest  son,  heir-apparent  to  a  dilapidated  property 
and  a  mouldy  title,  christened  Eeginald  and  called  by 
courtesy  Lord  Eunnymede,  had  lived  at  home  ever 
since  he  left  Cambridge,  where  he  took  no  honors  and 
had  very  few  associates.     Feeling  deeply  the  poverty 

9* 


102  JOHN  CHARAXES.       . 

of  his  house,  and  seeing  that  if  the  family  estate  were 
ever  to  be  rescued  from  its  present  condition  in  his 
time  it  must  be  done  by  him,  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
work.  His  father,  having  no  capacity  for  business  of 
any  kind,  allowed  him  to  dismiss  the  steward,  who, 
although  an  honest  man,  had  never  done  them  the  least 
good,  and  to  take  the  active  management  of  the  prop- 
erty into  his  own  hands.  The  young  lord  soon  per- 
suaded himself  that  a  course  of  severe  economy  in  the 
family  expenditures  was  necessary  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  the  great  end ;  the  indispensable  precursor  to 
the  more  distant  object  of  a  better  rent-roll.  To  save 
money,  therefore,  became  the  study  and  occupation  of 
his  life.  He  reduced  the  household  to  the  lowest  scale 
consistent  with  decent  living ;  and  it  was  not  without 
diflSculty  that  he  could  get  the  old  servants  to  remain 
on  lower  wages  and  put  up  with  fare  considerably 
poorer  than  they  had  been  accustomed  to,  or  procure 
others  to  take  their  j^laces.  But  at  the  period  when 
our  dear  Isabel  came  among  them,  from  a  land  flowing 
with  milk  and  honey  and  from  a  house  where  there 
was  always  some  profusion,  this  ancient  British  family 
had  been  for  several  years  settled  in  a  life  closely 
bordering  on  parsimony,  under  the  comptrollership  of 
the  young  lord.  He  was  now  about  thirty-five ;  and 
if  he  ever  thought  of  marrying  he  knew  that  he  must 
marry  an  heiress.  He  had  never  yet  had  a  chance  to 
do  anything  so  lucky. 

The  second  son  was  in  the  Church,  and  he  held  the 
family  living;  but  he,  too,  had  not  married.  He  lived 
in  the  rectory,  with  an  old  lady  who  kept  his  house  for 
him.  The  living  was  worth  but  little  more  than  three 
hundred  pounds;  and  if  the  Rev.  Herbert  Gascoigne 
should  ever  marry,  he  also  must  get  something  with  his 
wife,  for  no  assistance  beyond  the  living  could  come 
from  his  family. 

The  third  son,  our  friend  Lionel,  the  cleverest  of  the 
family,  who  was  supposed  to  have  made  such  a  good 
matrimonial  speculation  on  his  trip  to  America,  had 
obtained  a  clerkship  in  the  Foreign  Oflice  by  the  only 
piece  of  luck  that  had  befallen  the  family  in  many 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  103 

years.  His  father  seldom  attended  the  House  of  Lords. 
He  had  no  house  in  London,  and  when  he  did  go  to 
Town  he  went  alone,  lived  in  lodgings,  and  stayed  as 
short  a  time  as  he  could.  He  was  rarely  kept  in  Town 
very  long,  because  he  did  not  often  go  up  excepting  to 
give  his  vote  upon  some  important  measure.  He  voted 
with  the  ministry  of  the  day,  when  there  was  anj'thing 
to  be  gained  by  it;  and  when  he  could  not  find  that 
this  was  the  case  he  absented  himself  from  the  divisions. 
Anything  more  disreputable  in  a  peer  of  ancient  descent 
could  not  well  be  conceived ;  but  this  poor  old  noble- 
man's abilities  were  not  equal  to  the  possession  of 
anything  that  could  be  distinguished  by  the  name  of 
opinions.  Having  no  stock  of  that  commodity,  he  had 
to  regulate  his  votes  as  one  of  the  hereditary  legislators 
by  other  considerations.  It  happened  that  when  Lionel 
was  eighteen  years  old,  and  was  getting  at  home  such 
an  education  as  his  brother  the  clergyman,  who  was  a 
very  fair  scholar,  could  help  him  to  obtain,  the  ministry 
suddenly  found  that  every  vote  in  the  Upper  House 
which  they  could  command  was  necessary  to  prevent 
the  throwing  out  of  a  measure  which  they  had  with 
much  difficulty  carried  through  the  Commons.  This 
occurred  in  the  reign  of  King  William  lY.  I  mention 
the  period  because  the  subsequent  reign  has  seldom 
been  marked  by  transactions  of  the  kind  I  am  going  to 
describe.  Lord  Gascoigne  was  written  to,  and  asked 
to  come  to  Town.  He  came,  and  went  into  lodgings, 
as  usual.  A  private  secretary  waited  upon  and 
sounded  him.  He  had  no  convictions  or  views  what- 
ever about  the  measure,  but  he  had  the  sagacity  to  see 
that  the  government  were  in  want  of  votes.  He 
talked  in  his  dull  way  about  the  question,  and  finally 
said  that  he  had  a  son  for  whom  he  desired  an  appoint- 
ment in  the  Foreign  Office.  Promises  were  exchanged, 
of  the  vote  on  the  one  side  and  the  appointment  on  the 
other.  When  the  private  secretary  reported  the  bar- 
gain to  his  chief,  that  minister  said  that  it  was  rather 
an  expensive  one,  but  it  was  ratified.  Lionel  became 
entitled  to  write  F.  O.  on  his  card,  and  his  salary  was 
two  hundred  pounds  for  the  few  first  years.     He  was 


104  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

promoted  shortly  before  he  came  to  America,  and  his 
salary  was  raised  to  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds. 
His  expenses  on  that  trip  were  allowed. 

But  the  ladies  of  the  House  of  G-ascoigne  now  demand 
our  notice.  The  countess,  their  mother,  had  been  dead 
for  many  years.  The  eldest  daughter,  Lady  Bhinche, 
■was  a  year  or  two  younger  than  her  eldest  brother,  and 
she  was  a  good  deal  like  him  in  mind  and  character. 
She  shared  with  him  in  the  effort  to  keep  down  the 
family  expenses  ;  and  as  she  was  the  female  head  of  the 
house,  he  had  in  her  a  valuable  ally  in  the  battle  of 
life.  The  family  were  all  low  church — very  low — and 
strictly  evangelical.  Lady  Blanche,  aside  from  her 
household  duties,  was  devoted  to  missions  and  mission 
work,  especially  to  that  branch  of  missionarj^  eifort 
which  is  more  concerned  with  evangelizing  the  heathen 
of  distant  and  foreign  lands  than  with  the  spiritual 
wants  and  moral  destitution  of  people  nearer  home. 
She  had  a  small  income  of  her  own, — very  small,  I 
fancy, — and  spending  as  little  of  it  on  herself  as  a  gentle- 
woman could  and  appear  respectably  dressed, — she  was 
a  conscientious  woman, — she  distributed  the  residue, 
according  to  her  best  judgment,  among  the  missions  of 
her  branch  of  the  Church  in  the  remotest  parts  of  the 
earth.  She  very  seldom  went  to  Town,  but  when  she 
did  she  stayed  with  a  friend,  the  wife  of  the  Eev. 
Septimus  Giles,  rector  of  one  of  the  churches  in  the 
city.  These  two  ladies  always  went  together  to  the 
missionary  meetings  in  Exeter  Hall,  where  "  From 
Greenland's  icy  mountains"  was  sung  with  great  fer- 
vor, and  the  subscriptions  of  the  Hon.  Lad}^  Blanche 
Gascoigne,  as  well  as  those  of  other  persons,  were  duly 
reported  in  the  printed  accounts  of  the  collections.  At 
the  time  when  our  lovely  and  fascinating  Isabel  came 
to  pass  the  last  w^eek  of  her  waning  honeymoon  at 
Gascoigne  House,  Lady  Blanche  had  been  for  some 
months  taking  in  a  periodical,  then  newlj^  established 
in  London,  which  had  opened  to  her  the  enormity  of 
slavery  as  it  existed  in  America.  This  publication  was 
at  that  time  co-operating  with  the  new  sect  or  fac- 
tion known  in  America  as  "  the  Abolitionists."     Lady 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  105 

Blanche  had  thus  afforded  to  her  a  new  field  of 
thought,  in  the  sin  which  the  American  slave-holders 
were  committing  every  day  of  their  lives.  Her  ideas 
of  the  geography,  history,  institutions,  and  social  con- 
dition of  "  the  States"  were,  to  be  sure,  rather  mixed  ; 
but  she  made  up  in  zeal  and  strength  of  conviction 
what  she  lacked  in  knowledge. 

Lady  Maud  qame  next  in  age  to  her  clerical  brother, 
— that  is,  she  was  about  thirty.  vShe  had  had  an  attach- 
ment in  her  youth,  but  just  what  became  of  it,  except- 
ing that  she  did  not  marry,  I  did  not  learn,  when,  years 
later,  I  conversed  with  Isabel  about  her  husband's 
family.  I  gathered,  however,  that  Lady  Maud  at  one 
time  wrote  verses, — poetry  Mrs.  Lionel  Gascoigne  did 
not  call  it.  She  had  printed  some  of  her  effusions  in 
the  county  paper  before  Isabel's  visit,  and  the  latter 
saw  some  of  them  in  an  album  in  which  her  sister-in- 
law  had  preserved  them.  She  said  they  were  very  senti- 
mental. Au  reste,  Lady  Maud  was  useful  to  her  eldest 
sister  in  making  fancy-work,  to  be  sold  for  the  missions 
to  the  heathen. 

Lady  Clare  was  just  a  year  younger  than  Lionel, 
being  twenty-seven.  Perhaps  I  am  rather  exact  about 
the  ages  of  these  ladies ;  and  it  may  occur  to  my 
readers  that  there  is  a  rule  of  politeness  on  such  points, 
when  the  ages  of  ladies  are  not  essential  to  anything 
of  importance.  But  we  are  not  in  the  same  society  in 
which  these  ladies  moved;  and  besides,  they  have  all 
passed  away  a  good  while  ago.  I  will  only  add  that 
Lady  Clare  was  the  most  intelligent  and  good-natured 
of  the  sisters,  and  that,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
narrowness  of  their  lives,  and  if  Lady  Clare  had  ever 
had  half  the  advantages  that  Isabel  Bradshaw  enjoyed, 
she  would  have  been  an  agreeable  woman.  She  was 
better-looking,  too,  than  her  sisters,  who  were  very 
jDlain. 

Into  this  dismal  family  Isabel  was  to  be  introduced 
as  the  American  wife  of  the  youngest  son,  and  among 
them  she  was  to  pass  Christmas-week.  Lionel  had  not 
told  his  wife  much  about  his  family.  She  knew  that 
they  belonged  by  birth  to  the  older  aristocracy,  that 


106  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

they  had  a  large  estate,  and  so  on  ;  but  she  knew 
nothing  about  their  poverty,  their  characters,  or  their 
mode  of  hfe.  She  had  read  all  of  Mr.  Irving's  works 
that  were  then  current,  and  she  probably  anticipated 
seeing  something  like  the  Christmas  at  Bracebridge 
Hall.  Ah  !  G-eoifrey  Crayon,  how  you  did  Idealize  that 
charming  picture!  No  matter;  you  had  a  right  to 
work  it  up  as  you  did,  and  if  you  never  saw  it  in  real 
life,  who  shall  complain  ?  I  shall  not.  I  shall  only  say 
that  if  Isabel  expected  to  meet  a  Squire  Bracebridge  in 
her  father-in-law,  she  was  wofully  disappointed,  poor 
young  lady,  as  she  was  in  the  tout  ensemble  of  the 
house  and  its  inmates.  I  was  once  on  the  point  of 
asking  her,  when  all  this  was  over  and  she  was  a  rich, 
middle-aged,  and  still  very  handsome  woman,  dwelling 
in  the  great  land  of  her  birth,  what  her  expectations 
were  in  regard  to  the  family  into  which  she  married. 
But  she  had  met  with  many  delusions  and  disappoint- 
ments, most  of  them  of  her  own  causing ;  and  as  I 
knew  something  of  this  one,  I  forbore  making  the 
special  inquiry  that  was  on  my  lips.  Before  she  goes 
down  to  the  first  dinner  at  Gascoigne  House,  I  will  just 
express  the  hope  that  my  young  country-women  of 
the  present  day  will  not  be  discouraged  from  marrying 
into  aristocratic  English  families  by  the  fate  of  Isabella 
Bradshaw.  Our  young  ladies  do  better  now,  I  am  told, 
in  these  marriages,  doubtless  because  of  their  superior 
moral  and  intellectual  qualities.  I  cannot  allow,  how- 
ever, that  any  of  them  surpass  my  friend  Isabel  in 
beauty,  whatever  may  be  their  personal  ehar.ms  or 
their  loveliness  of  character.  I  must  give  one  other 
caution  :  for  I  would  not  have  our  young  ladies  suppose 
that  all  or  most  of  the  aristocracy  of  good  Queen 
Yictoria's  realms  are  like  the  G-ascoignes.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  many  an  American  girl  who  has  cast  her 
lot  upon  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  has  found  in  such 
high  connections  all  that  she  anticipated  and  not  more 
than  she  deserved.  I,  for  one,  hope  that  such  marriages 
will  be  multiplied. 

But  something  must  now  be  said  of  the  expectations 
of  the  G-ascoigne  family  concerning  Isabel.     None  of 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  107 

them  came  to  Town  to  meet  her  on  her  arrival,  proba- 
bly because  it  Avas  not  convenient  to  spend  money  for 
the  journey.  Lady  Blanche  wrote  a  rather  frigid  note, 
to  say  that  they  would  all  be  happy  to  see  Mrs.  Lionel 
Gascoigne  in  the  country,  and  to  have  her  and  her  hus- 
band pass  Christmas-week  with  them.  The  whole 
family,  with  the  exception  of  Lady  Clare,  thought  that 
Lionel  ought  to  have  obtained  a  handsome  settlement 
from  the  rich  Boston  merchant,  in  consideration  of  his 
ancient  birth.  They  were  very  much  disappointed 
when  they  heard  that  Mr.  Bradshaw  had  given  his 
daughter  nothing  but  an  income  exactly  equal  to  her 
husband's  salary.  They  did  not  imagine  that  Mr. 
Bradshaw's  money  could  benefit  their  family  estate  in 
any  direct  way;  but  Lionel  was  a  rising  man  ;  he  might 
some  day  be  an  ambassador,  or,  at  least,  a  secretary  of 
legation,  and  it  would  be  convenient  for  his  sisters  if 
his  wife  had  a  good  fortune.  They  had  heard  that 
Isabel  was.  a  great  beauty,  but  they  did  not  consider 
that  her  beauty  made  amends  for  the  want  of  such  a 
settlement  as  would  have  been  obtained  from  a  rich 
British  brewer  or  shipping  merchant  who  had  a  hand- 
some daughter  to  exchange  for  an  alliance  with  a 
family  as  old  as  the  Conquest.  To  do  Lionel  justice, 
although  he  came  to  America  with  almost  a  fixed  pur- 
pose to  carry  home  a  rich  wife,  he  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Isabel  very  sincerely,  as  what  young  man  would 
not  ?  When  it  came  to  the  point  of  settling  the  con- 
ditions on  which  he  was  to  obtain  her,  he  had  the  sense 
to  discover  that  it  would  not  do  for  him  to  say  much 
about  the  money  part  of  the  arrangement.  He  was  in 
profound  ignorance  of  the  reasons  which  led  Mr.  Brad- 
shaw to  be  less  liberal  with  Isabel  than  he  might  have 
been  under  other  circumstances.  As  Isabel  was  con- 
tent with  what  her  father  gave  her,  Lionel  rested  satis- 
fied ;  not  without  counting,  however,  on  his  future 
promotion  in  the  diplomatic  service  as  an  occasion 
when  his  father-in-law  would  be  likely  to  come  down 
with  a  hanjisome  sum,  in  addition  to  a  quarterly  al- 
lowance. He  found,  however,  that  on  his  and  Isabel's 
joint  income  they  could,  with  great  prudence,  live  com- 


108  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

fortably  in  London,  which  was  all  that  Isabel  now 
seemed  to  care  for.  Lionel  would  have  to  give  up  some 
of  his  bachelor  habits,  but  his  love  for  his  wife  made 
this  quite  eas}^.  They  took  lodgings  in  a  well-furnished 
house  on  Clarence  Terrace,  that  looked  upon  the  Green 
Park,  and  their  table  was  supplied  by  the  respectable 
lady,  widow  of  a  country  curate,  who  let  the  apartment. 
Isabel  had  a  pretty  drawing-room  and  a  chamber,  on 
one  side  of  which  there  was  a  small  dressing-room  for 
Lionel,  and  on  the  other  a  bit  of  a  bedroom  for  the 
colored  woman  whom  Isabel  brought  with  her  from  her 
father's  house.  There  was  another  room  on  the  next 
floor  above  that  could  be  had,  if  wanted.  They  reached 
London  late  in  the  month  of  November,  and  in  about  a 
week  came  the  invitation  to  Gascoigne  House.  When 
the  time  arrived,  Lionel  and  Isabel  went  down  in  a 
post-chaise,  there  being  then  no  railwaj^s  into  Hamp- 
shire. Dinah  was  sent  down  by  the  mail-coach  with 
the  "  luggage,"  as  they  call  it  in  England. 

Isabel  and  her  husband  arrived  at  Gascoigne  House 
late  in  the  afternoon.  The  family  were  all  in  the  draw- 
ing-room when  she  entered  the  hall.  The  earl,  who 
was  a  stiff  old  man,  came  forward,  and  offering  his  arm, 
after  he  had  imprinted  a  formal  salute  upon  her  fore- 
head, led  her  into  the  family  circle.  Lady  Blanche  was 
not  much  more  cordial  in  her  reception  of  the  stranger. 
Lady  Maud  followed  the  example  of  her  eldest  sister, 
as  she  always  did.  Lady  Clare  alone  kissed  her  new 
sister-in-law  in  something  like  an  affectionate  way.  The 
young  lord  and  the  clergyman,  when  they  were  pre- 
sented, merely  bowed.  There  was  no  one  else  in  the 
room.  Isabel,  who  supposed,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
that  there  were  other  guests  in  the  house,  thought  that 
she  must  lose  no  time  in  dressing  for  dinner,  and  asked 
if  her  maid  had  arrived.  When  told  that  Dinah  was 
already  in  her  room,  she  said  she  would  like  to  go  up 
at  once.  Lady  Clare  accompanied  her  through  the  hall 
and  to  her  chamber,  and  then  left  her.  There  was  but 
one  feeble  lamp  that  hung  over  the  great  staircase, 
and  the  house  to  Isabel,  who  was  accustomed  at  home 
to  an  abundance  of  light  and  warmth,  seemed  chill  and 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  109 

gloomy.  Dinah  had  ah-eady  laid  out  the  dress  which  she 
supposed  her  mistress  woufd  choose  to  wear,  and  on  the 
dressing-table  had  placed  her  case  of  jewelry.  There 
was  a  small  fire  in  the  grate,  and  a  couple  of  wax 
candles  (not  yet  lighted)  on  high  silver  candlesticks 
on  the  mantel  over  the  fireplace. 

When  Isabel  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  her  husband,  who  came  out  of  a  dress- 
ing-closet where  Dinah  had  laid  out  his  evening  clothes, 
she  was  arrayed  in  a  very  elegant  and  becoming  silk 
dress;  her  laces,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time, 
were  rich  and  fine,  and  she  wore  a  set  of  diamonds  that 
could  not  have  been  matched  in  that  old  house  for  gen- 
erations. ^  There  was  no  thought  of  any  display  in  this, 
and  nothing  to  which  she  had  not  been  accustomed  all 
her  life.  Her  beautiful  hair  was  arranged  in  the  ring- 
lets then  in  fashion,  and  when  she  entered  the  drawing- 
room  she  ought  to  have  met  with  a  reception  to  whici 
a  woman  who  was  so  lovely  and  whose  manners  were 
so  graceful  was  fairly  entitled.  But  the  family  did  not 
seem  to  appreciate  the  acquisition  they  had  made. 
Isabel  did  not  know  that  there  was  not  a  single  guest 
in  the  house  besides  her  husband  and  herself  until  dinner 
was  announced.  Her  father-in-law  took  her  into  the 
dining-parlor  and  placed  her  at  his  right  hand.  Lionel 
gave  his  arm  to  his  eldest  sister. 

_  I  shall  probably  fail  in  the  description  of  that  first 
dinner.  It  was  as  unlike  the  first  or  any  other  dinner 
at  Bracebridge  Hall  as  can  be  conceived.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  family  silver,  but  the  dishes  were  upon 
the  most  moderate  scale  in  number  and  quality.  Isa- 
bel thought  that  a  glass  of  champagne,  or  some  other 
"  ladies'  wine,"  would  be  pleasant  after  her  cold  journey, 
but  none  came.  The  beverages  were  beer  and  port. 
The  conversation  was  as  meagre  as  the  viands.  A  few 
dull  questions  were  asked  about  her  voyage,  about  her 
lodgings,  what  she  had  seen  in  London,  etc.  As  she  had 
seen  little  but  a  dense,  yellow,  cold  fog,  which  made  her 
long  for  the  glorious  sunshine  of  her  native  land,  that 
brings  us  the  Indian  summer  at  the  season  "when  the 
people  of  England  hang  and  drown  themselves,"  as 

10 


110  JOHN  CHAR  Axes, 

Addison  tells  us,  she  had  not  much  to  relate.  Lady- 
Blanche  gave  the  signal  for  the  ladies  to  leave  the  table 
soon  after  the  cloth  was  removed,  and  they  went  into 
the  drawing-room,  Lionel  opening  the  door  for  them. 
The  gentlemen  remained,  with  a  decanter  of  port. 

There  was  a  little  more  light  in  the  drawing-room 
than  there  was  before  dinner,  but  not  enough  to  over- 
come the  gloom  produced  by  the  dark  old  furniture  and 
hangings,  or  to  light  up  the  few  pictures  on  the  walls. 
Isabel  drew  her  cashmere  shawl  around  her  shoulders 
— Dinah  had  been  thoughtful  enough  to  bring  it  down 
to  the  drawing-room  while  they  were  at  dinner — and 
took  a  seat  on  the  sofa  nearest  the  fire,  by  the  side  of 
Lady  Blanche.  There  was  a  pretty  striking  contr-ast 
between  the  dress  of  the  fair  American  and  that  of  the 
other  ladies.  Lady  Blanche  did  not  compliment  her 
sister-in-law  on  her  dress,  but  she  was  immensely  sur- 
prised by  her  jewels. 

"  Your  diamonds  are  very  beautiful,"  she  said ;  "  I 
presume  they  were  a  wedding-gift  from  your  father?" 

"  They  were  a  gift  from  my  father,"  Isabel  answered, 
very  simply,  "  but  not  a  wedding-gift.  I  have  worn 
them  since  I  was  eighteen." 

"  Indeed !  do  young  unmarried  ladies  in  America 
wear  diamonds  ?" 

"Young  unmarried  ladies  in  America,"  Isabel  an- 
swered, with  a  little  smile,  "  wear  anything  that  their 
fathers  or  brothers  give  them,  or  their  lovers,  if  they 
happen  to  be  engaged." 

"  That  is  very  singular.  I  suppose  you  have  a  large 
society  in  Boston  ?" 

"Not  what  you  would  call  large;  but  perhaps  we 
are  not  very  different  from  the  rest  of  the  civilized 
world,  unless  it  may  be  in  what  some  of  our  young 
ladies  do.  "We  have  some  families  in  which  there  is 
quite  an  English  strictness." 

"  Do  you  have  philanthropic  and  benevolent  societies 
in  which  your  ladies  take  part  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  there  is  a  great  deal  of  that  in  our  differ- 
ent churches,  and  ladies  are  constantly  working  for  the 
poor  in  Boston." 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  HI 

"  What  do  they  do  for  the  Southern  slaves?  I  have 
understood  that  there  are  a  few  noble  women  in  Boston 
who  are  making  great  efforts  to  spread  a  conviction  of 
the  sin  of  slavery.     Do  you  know  Mrs.  Camman  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  her,  but  I  have  heard  about  her.  I 
have  heard  my  father  say  that  the  spirit  in  which  the 
abolitionists  have  begun  this  crusade  against  the  people 
of  the  South,  because  they  happen  to  own  slaves  whom 
they  cannot  immediately  set  free,  is  likely  to  do  a  great 
deal  of  mischief" 

"  But  why  can  they  not  emancipate  them,  and  do  it 
now?  ^Yhy  should  such  a  terrible  sin  be  suffered  to 
exist  another  day?" 

"  I  cannot  make  a  political  argument.  Lady  Blanche, 
but  I  do  not  suppose  that  the  blacks  in  our  Southern 
States  suffer  such  great  misery  that  strangers  are  called 
upon  to  interfere.  If  I  may  judge  from  the  woman  who 
has  been  with  me  since  I  was  a  child,  and  from  what 
she  has  told  me, — she  was  born  a  slave, — the  negroes 
of  the  South  must  be  a  very  happy  people  ;  more  so,  I 
presume,  than  thousands  in  your  manufacturing  towns 
and  mining  districts." 

"  She  was  born  a  slave !"  Lady  Blanche  exclaimed, 
clasping  her  hands  together  and  looking  shocked. 

"  Yes,  my  father  bought  her  in  Charleston,  brought 
her  to  Boston,  and  made  her  free." 

"  Was  not  that  giving  a  sanction  to  the  sin  of  slavery  ? 
Did  not  Mr.  Bradshaw  give  the  weight  of  his  example 
to  the  dreadful  idea  that  there  can  be  property  in 
human  beings?" 

"My  father  did  not  so  consider  it,  and  I  fancy  that  it 
did  not  matter  much  to  Dinah  whose  sin  was  sanctioned, 
so  long  as  she  obtained  her  freedom  in  an  honest  way." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  an  honest  way  ?  Can  there 
be  any  honesty  in  the  traffic  in  human  flesh  ?" 

"I  will  tell  you,  dear  Lady  Blanche,  what  my 
father  considered  honest.  He  bought  the  girl  in 
Charleston,  and  paid  her  full  value  to  her  owners.  He 
brought  her  to  his  house  in  Boston,  made  her  a  free 
woman,  and  made  her  understand  that  she  was  free. 
She  has  always  had  good  wages  and  perfect  liberty  to 


112  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

go  and  come  as  she  pleased.  She  has  repaid  my  father 
long  ago  for  the  money  which  he  gave  for  her,  and 
she  now  serves  me  for  love  as  well  as  wages.  You 
can  have  no  idea  of  the  affectionate  attachment  of  the 
colored  people  to  white  people  who  treat  them  kindly." 

"  It  would  be  better  for  their  race  if  they  could  be 
made  to  see  the  terrible  wrong  that  has  been  done  to 
them." 

"  I  have  not  studied  these  things  very  deeply,"  said 
Isabel,  "  perhaps  you  have.  But  that  wrong,  I  have 
always  understood,  was  done  to  their  ancestors  by  your 
ancestors.  The  present  generations  of  masters  and 
slaves,  I  have  heard  my  father  say,  are  bound  together 
by  very  complicated  ties." 

"  Those  ties  must  be  broken.  Your  Northern  States 
ought  to  insist  on  immediate  emancipation  or  a  separa- 
tion from  the  Southern  States." 

Isabel  had  concluded  by  this  time  that  she  had  heard 
quite  enough  on  the  serious  side  of  this  subject,  and  so, 
by  way  of  affording  a  little  merriment,  she  said  she 
could  repeat  an  anecdote  about  Mrs.  Camman,  which 
was  thought  in  Boston  to  be  quite  amusing. 

"  Oh,  tell  us,"  said  Lady  Clare ;  "  it  is  so  interesting 
to  hear  about  things  in  America." 

"  You  have  perhaps  heard,"  said  Isabel,  "  of  the  abo- 
lition riots  in  Boston.  At  one  of  the  anti-slavery 
meetings,  which  a  good-natured  crowd  of  people  who 
disapproved  of  the  sayings  and  doings  of  the  aboli- 
tionists undertook  to  disperse,  the  mayor  came  upon 
the  ground  to  protect  the  persons  of  those  who  had 
made  themselves  obnoxious  to  public  sentiment.  He 
was  a  most  gentlemanlike  man,  of  exceedingly  courteous 
manners,  especially  to  ladies.  Mrs.  Camman  came  out 
of  the  meeting  very  indignant  and  excited,  and  stepping 
up  to  the  mayor,  she  said,  '  Mr.  Barton,  I  am  ready  to 
die  in  this  cause !'  Mr.  Barton  lifted  his  hat,  made  her 
a  low  bow,  and  replied,  '  Madam,  I  have  not  the  least 
objection  to  your  dying,  but  you  will  oblige  me  very 
much  if  you  will  go  home  and  die !' " 

Lady  Blanche  did  not  think  the  story  amusing.  The 
mayor,  she  supposed,  was  one  of  those  ISTorthern  men 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  US 

who  'truckled  to  the  South."  Findinf^  that  her  lis- 
teners did  not  see  the  fun  of  the  story,  Isabel  rela^Dsed 
into  silence.  Perhaps  she  remembered  telling  her 
father  that  she  was  willing  to  take  her  chances.  But 
she  probably  thought  that  to  be  preached  to  about  the 
national  sin  of  her  country  was  rather  a  triste  welcome  ; 
and  as  she  could  not  amuse  her  sisters-in-law  she  had 
better  not  try  further  conversation.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  gentlemen  came  in  from  their  port  wine;  and  as 
Lady  Blanche  moved  to  the  tea-table  to  make  the  tea, 
Lionel  took  the  seat  by  the  side  of  his  wife  and  tried 
to  cheer  her  by  telling  her  that  in  the  morning  he 
would  conduct  her  through  the  house  and  tell  her 
sonjething  of  its  history.  After  they  had  retired  for 
the  night,  Isabel  repeated  to  him  most  of  the  conver- 
sation about  slavery  in  America.  "  Blanche,"  said  he, 
"  has  not  an  idea  in  her  head  about  anj^thing  out  of 
England  that  she  does  not  get  from  the  Exeter  Hall 
people.  Don't  be  vexed,  my  dear,  by  anything  that  she 
says." 

In  the  morning, — it  was  Christmas-day, — after  the 
inevitable  tea,  toast,  and  egg,  before  they  went  to 
church,  Lionel  took  his  wife  through  the  picture- 
gallery,  where  there  was  a  large  collection  of  family 
portraits.  Lady  Clare  accompanied  them.  Isabel 
ought  to  have  put  on  as  many  wraps  as  if  she  were 
going  out  of  doors,  for  the  long  apartment  was  not 
warmed  at  all,  although  the  sun  shone  brightly  through 
the  windows.  She  wore  only  a  light  shawl.  There 
was  but  one  of  the  pictures  that  interested  her.  They 
stood  in  front  of  a  portrait  that  hung  in  a  good  light, 
and  Isabel  was  at  once  attracted  by  it.  It  was  the  face 
of  a  young  lady,  painted  seemingly  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  and  painted  with  great  skill.  It  was  a  dreamy, 
tender  face,  and  the  eyes  had  a  soft  gleam  that  told 
strangely  of  both  joy  and  sorrow.  About  the  mouth 
there  was  an  expression  of  firmness  amounting  almost 
to  masculine  resolution,  but  it  was  relieved  by  the 
general  softness  and  sweetness, of  the  whole  counte- 
nance. You  could  see  that  obstinacy  and  tenderness 
both  belonged  to  her  character. 
A  10* 


114  JOHN  CHARIxES. 

"  Who  was  this  lady  ?"  asked  Isabel. 

"  Her  history  is  very  romantic,"  said  Lady  Clare. 
"  It  is  the  strangest  piece  of  romance, — almost  the  only 
one  in  our  family  traditions.  There  has  always  been 
a  mystery  about  her  that  has  never  been  solved.  I 
will  tell  you  what  is  known  about  her,  but  perhaps  we 
had  better  not  stand  here  longer,  for  I  am  afraid  it  is 
rather  cold  for  you." 

They  walked  up  and  down  the  long  room,  and  Lady 
Clare  told  all  that  she  knew  of 

THE   STORY   OF   HENRIETTA   GASCOIGNE. 

"She  was  the  youngest  daughter  of  my  ancestor, 
the  Lord  Gascoigne  who  rendered  great  service  to 
Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  the  consort  of  our  King  Charles 
I.,  when  Her  Majesty  was  obliged  to  leave  England.  The 
queen  condescended  to  allow  my  ancestor  to  give  her 
name  to  this  daughter,  and  she  sent  a  silver  porringer 
to  the  child,  which  is  still  in  this  house,  with  Her 
Majesty's  cipher  and  the  royal  arms  engraved  upon  it. 
I  do  not  know  much  about  Henrietta's  girlhood  or 
education,  but  her  father  was  a  great  deal  in  London 
during  the  time  of  the  Long  Parliament  and  the  sub- 
sequent usurpation  of  Cromwell,  engaged  in  the  royal 
cause  with  other  Loyalists.  These  affairs  took  him 
much  into  the  city,  although  he  had  a  lodging  at  West- 
minster, in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Abbey,  in  the  house 
of  a  former  tenant  of  his  who  carried  on  the  trade  of  a 
glove-maker.  If  you  have  ever  read  much  about  those 
times  you  probably  know  that  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  secret  correspondence  carried  on  between  the  Loyal- 
ists at  home  and  the  little  court  of  our  exiled  sovereign 
at  Breda,  King  Charles  II.  There  were  negotiations 
with  Jew  money-lenders;  and  there  were  at  that  time 
in  the  city  of  London  a  number  of  G-reek  merchants, 
who,  for  some  reason,  perhaps  because  of  their  dislike 
of  the  sects  opposed  to  our  true  Church,  or  because 
Cromwell  had  oppressed  them  in  some  way,  made  them- 
selves useful  to  the  loyal  English  noblemen  and  gen- 
tlemen who  sought  the  restoration  of  the  monarchy. 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  115 

Henrietta's  father  transacted  a  great  deal  of  business 
with  one  of  these  Greek  merchants,  who  had  a  son  a 
few  years  older  than  Henrietta.  This  young  man,  who 
is  said  to  have  been  an  attractive  and  adroit  person,  was 
much  at  my  ancestor's  lodging.  He  fell  in  love  with 
the  girl  and  she  with  him.  There  was  a  clandestine 
correspondence,  which  was  discovered.  The  father  of 
the  young  man  professed  to  behave  very  honorably 
about  the  affair,  and  said  that  he  had  sent  his  son  to 
the  Mediterranean  on  business.  Henrietta's  father  sent 
her  to  this  house,  under  the  care  of  the  steward  and  his 
wife,  with  charge  to  keep  strict  watch  over  her  and  to 
allow  no  letters  to  reach  her.  The  young  man  lurked 
about  the  neighborhood,  and  by  some  means  he  man- 
aged to  communicate  with  the  girl,  and  she  eloped  with 
him.  They  were  traced  to  some  Italian  port,  but  be- 
yond that  the  search  was  fruitless.  It  was  never  ascer- 
tained whether  they  were  married.  This  occurred 
about  the  time  when  General  Monk  began  his  move- 
ments for  the  restoration  of  the  king,  and  in  these 
affairs  Henrietta's  father  was  so  much  occupied  that 
he  had  to  suspend  the  search  for  his  daughter.  Whether 
the  father  of  the  young  man  'was  honest  in  his  pro- 
fession of  a  purpose  to  get  his  son  out  of  England  be- 
fore the  peace  and  honor  of  our  family  should  become 
compromised,  the  accounts  that  have  come  down  to  us 
do  not  enable  us  to  judge.  But  soon  after  the  happy 
restoration  of  the  king  this  Greek  merchant  closed  his 
business  in  London  and  left  England.  Henrietta  Gas- 
coigne  was  never  again  heard  of  by  her  own  family. 
It  is  the  only  instance,  my  dear,  in  which  a  daughter 
of  this  house  ever  went  astray." 

"  It  is  a  very  singular  story,"  said  Isabel ;  "  but  what 
was  the  name  of  the  Greek  family  ?" 

"  That,"  replied  Lady  Clare,  "  is  what  makes  one 
part  of  the  mystery  now.  The  tradition  has  probably 
come  from  members  or  servants  of  our  family  who  did 
not  learn  the  name  or  who  forgot  it.  There  are  not 
known  to  be  any  papers  that  would  throw  light  upon  it." 

They  paused  again  in  front  of  the  portrait,  and  Isabel 
studied  the  face  with  renewed  interest.     As  they  stood 


116  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

there  looking  at  it,  Lionel  said,  "  You  know,  Clare,  that 
I  have  always  considered  this  story  a  myth.  I  believe 
it  was  invented  by  gossiping  and  romantic  people 
in  order  to  attach  a  tradition  to  this  portrait,  about 
which  nothing  certain  has  been  known  for  two  hundred 
years,  although  it  was  probably  painted  by  Van  Dyck. 
There  may  have  been  a  wild  girl  in  the  family  who  ran 
away  with  somebody,  but  whether  she  was  the  girl 
whose  portrait  hangs  here  is,  of  course,  utterly  uncer- 
tain. If  there  is  an}-  truth  in  the  story  at  all,  it  could 
not  have  been  so  difficult  to  find  the  fugitives.  After 
the  Restoration  my  ancestor  could  have  had  all  the 
official  aid  that  he  needed  in  a  search  for  a  runaway 
daughter.  The  loss  of  the  name  of  the  supposed  Greek 
adventurer  makes  the  whole  thing  very  suspicious." 

Perhaps  Lionel  spoke  with  the  doubts  natural  to  an 
official  man.  His  sister,  however,  did  not  give  up  her 
faith  in  a  story  that  she  had  believed  since  she  was  a 
child.  Isabel  said  nothing  more,  but  she  told  me,  long 
afterwards,  that  by  some  fascination  for  which  she  could 
not  account  she  never  forgot  the  portrait  or  the  tra- 
dition. 

They  went  to  church,  where  the  services  were  of 
rather  a  humdrum  order.  No  tenants  crowded  around 
the  old  lord  and  offered  their  Christmas  greetings. 
The  farmers  and  their  families  were  there,  but  they  did 
not  seem  to  feel  a  strong  attachment  to  their  landlord 
or  his  children.  They  knew  that  no  good  cheer  was 
providing  for  them  at  the  manor  house,  to  make  a  merry 
Christmas  of  the  olden  time.  When  the  plate  went 
around  for  the  collection,  the  family  dropped  into  it  a 
few  shillings.  Isabel  took  a  sovereign  out  of  her  purse 
and  laid  it  modestly  on  the  plate,  without  a  sound. 
Lionel  gave  as  much  as  he  could  afford.  The  picture 
of  Bracebridge  Hall  was  rapidly  fading  out  of  Isabel's 
imagination  as  they  left  the  church.  Although  she  was 
well  wrapped  in  her  furs,  she  felt  chilled.  In  fact,  she 
was  taking  cold  without  knowing  it. 

I  pass  over  the  luncheon  and  the  lugubrious  after- 
noon. Isabel  tried  the  piano,  but  it  was  not  in  good 
tune,  and  the  strings  jarred  upon  her  nerves.     Lady 


ISABEL  AT  GASCOIOyE  HOUSE.  117 

Clare  asked  her  to  sing,  but,  after  making  the  attempt, 
she  began  to  cough,  and  had  to  give  it  up.  She  went 
up  to  her  room  to  dress  for  the  evening.  She  chose  a 
less  elegant  dress  than  the  one  she  had  worn  the  even- 
ing before,  and,  as  her  diamonds  had  been  remarked 
upon,  she  put  on  only  a  string  of  pearls.  She  even  laid 
aside  some  of  her  rings.  The  dinner  that  evening  was 
hardly  more  ample  or  more  lively  than  the  first  one. 
After  the  ladies  had  been  for  half  an  hour  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, Isabel  said  that  she  felt  unwell,  and  must  be 
excused  for  going  to  her  chamber  before  the  gentlemen 
came  in.  Lady  Clare  offered  to  accompany  her,  but  she 
said  she  would  not  tax  her  kindness.  In  truth,  she 
wished  to  be  alone ;  but,  with  her  usual  politeness,  she 
went  to  Lad}^  Clare  and  kissed  her  an  affectionate 
good-night.  She  went  up-stairs,  exchanged  her  dress 
for  a  warm  wrapper,  sat  down  before  the  fire,  and 
began  to  weep.  Lionel,  as  soon  as  he  entered  the 
drawing-room  and  found  that  his  wife  was  not  there, 
bounded  up  the  staircase  three  steps  at  a  time. 

In  the  servants'  hall,  after  the  dishes  had  been 
removed  from  the  dining-parlor  to  furnish  forth  what 
they  might  for  the  supper  of 

"  The  baron's  retainers,  blithe  and  gay, 
A-keeping  their  Christmas  holiday," 

as  well  as  they  could  in  such  a  house,  and  the  gentle- 
men were  left  to  their  port  wine,  Dinah,  who  had  been 
found  to  be  a  very  amusing  person,  began  to  tell  queer 
stories.  The  conversation  somehow  turned  upon  the 
subject  of  serpents,  and  Dinah  was  asked  if  she  had 
ever  seen  a  rattlesnake. 

(I  must  observe  that  Dinah  did  her  spelling  as  she 
would  have  done  her  writing  if  she  could  have  used  a 
pen.) 

"  Seen  um  ?"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  reck'n  I  liev.  I  seen 
wun  wunce  dat  was  ten  foot  long.  Massa  Julius 
Pringle  killed  um  in  de  woods.  He  was  twenty-wun 
yeer  ole  ef  he  was  a  day." 

"  'Ow  do  you  know  that  ?"  asked  the  cook. 


118  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

"Know  it?  'coz  he  bed  twenty-wun  rattl's.  He 
grow'd  a  ratt'l  every  year.     Massa  Julius  tole  me  soh." 

"  'Ow  did  he  get  along  with  so  many  bunches  on  his 
tail  ?" 

"  He  krawl'd  on  his  belly  like  any  udder  sarpint  wen 
he  wanted  ter  walk.  Wen  he  wanted  to  bite,  he  kurl'd 
hisself  up  in  rings,  shuck  his  rattl's,  an'  giv'  a  spring, 
wid  his  jors  op'n  an'  his  teef  sot.  He'd  hit  a  rabbet  an' 
swaller  'em  rite  deown  hole.  Don't  yer  knows  dat  de 
old  sarpint  wot  begiled  mudder  Eve  was  a  ratt'lsnake  ? 
He  didn't  kurl  up  a  bit  wen  he  talked  to  dat  fool  woman  ; 
he  jess  slid  along  on  de  groun',  an'  tole  her  abeout  dat 
appuel.  I've  seen  some  of  dem  same  kyind  of  appuels 
on  a  tree  in  ole  Yirginny  nevar  tyre." 

"  Yere  is  that  ?"  inquired  the  groom. 

"Ole  Yirginny  is  a  grat  big  Stat  on  de  nor'  sid  of  de 
ole  Nor'  Stat.  De  fokes  dere  eet  a  powerfu'  lot  ob  dem 
appuels,  an'  dey  knows  a  good  deel  more'n  's  good  fur 
'em." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation,  the  house-maid, 
whose  brother  was  a  sailor,  and  who  had  heard  some- 
thing about  the  sea-serpent,  asked  Dinah  if  she  had 
ever  seen  that  famous  American  monster  of  the  deep. 

"  Taas,"  said  Dinah,  "  I  seen  um  wunce  off  Nerharnt. 
De  fam'ly  wuz  stayin'  wun  summer  at  de  Nerharnt 
Hotel.  I  tuk  Missus  Is'bel  out  wun  day  on  de  rox  to 
ketch  tortorg.  I  bated  de  hook  fur  her  an'  she  fish'd. 
She  was  a  'ittl'  gurl  den.  All  ter  wunce,  a  man  cum 
runnin'  out  an'  tole  us  to  look  at  de  see-sarpint.  I 
look'd  out  to  see,  an'  dere  he  was,  shure  enuf,  floatin' 
on  de  water  jess  lik'  a  long  string  o'  barr'ls.  His  bed 
was  out  o'  water,  an'  he  bed  a  long  man,  like  a  boss's, 
but  I  reck'n  it  hedn't  ben  comb'd  fur  wun  whyle.  His 
ize  was  as  big  as  sarsers  an'  as  black  as  charcole." 

"  'Ow  long  did  he  stay  there  ?"  was  the  next  inquiry. 

"Dey  put  out  in  botes  to  kotch  'um,  but  he  mad  a 
big  splash  an'  duv  un'er,  an'  he  was'nt  kotch'd,  an' 
nebber  will  be." 

Dinah  had  not  been  two  days  in  the  house  without 
letting  her  musical  gifts  be  known  by  an  occasional 
bit  of  singing.     They  asked  her  for  a  song,  whereupon 


ISABEL  AT  QASCOIGNE  HOUSE.  119 

she  gave  them  a  ditty,  describing  some  of  the  miseries 
of  human  life  in  the  land  of  slavery.  She  said  that  she 
had  heard  it  sung  by  one  of  the  "  old  aunties"  on  the 
cotton  plantation. 

De  skurrel  cum  deown  from  de  hickery-tree, 
An'  he  brung  a  hickeiy-nut  to  me. 
"  Crack  um  I"  I  sez,  "  my  'ittP  chap  ;" 
De  skurrel's  teef  give  a  rite  smart  snap  : 
He  bruk  de  nut  an'  he  stole  de  meat, 
An'  he  dropp'd  de  shells  deown  to  my  feet. 
"  Oh,  golly,  you  sly  'ittl'  rog,  git  eout, 
Wot's  all  your  munkey  trix  abeout?" 

De  mockin'-burd  sing'd  ine  a  song  wun  day, 

An'  I  tole  him  to  sing  dat  song  alway  ; 

But  he  wissled  a  tchune  I  nebber  hurd. 

An'  he  swore  'twan't  him,  but  anoder  burd  : 

Den  he  floo  aroun'  an'  stoP  de  berries 

An'  robb'd  de  trees  ob  all  de  cherries. 
"  Oh,  golly,  youlyin'  rog,  git  eout, 
Wot's  all  your  wissling  tchunes  abeout?" 

De  black  pig  into' my  gardin  brok, 

An'  he  gobbl'd  up  de  artychok  ; 

An'  de  gumbo  plants  he  root'd  up, 

Dat  I  kep'  for  my  ole  man's  Sund'y  soop; 

He  bit  de  melluns  an'  split  de  squosh. 

My  gardin  was  all  bruk  up,  by  gosh  I 

"Oh,  golly,  yeou  durn'd  black  rog,  git  eout, 
I'll  wlr  a  ring  in  your  plaguey  sneout." 

In  the  midst  of  other  recitatives  of  this  kind,  which 
Dinah  correctly  thought  suited  to  the  taste  of  her 
audience,  the  door  opened  and  her  master  called  her 
out  of  the  room. 

"  Dinah,"  he  said,  "  your  mistress  has  a  bad  sore 
throat,  and  I  am  going  to  send  the  groom  for  the  apoth- 
ecary." 

"  No,  Mass'  Li'nel,  don't  dun  do  dat.  Missus  Is'bel 
don'  want  no  pottikery,  I  knows.  I'll  keure  dat  sore 
froat  rite  quick.  Yeou  jess  go  up  an'  tell  her  I'll  be 
dere  in  a  jiffy." 

Then  she  went  back  into  the  room  and  procured  from 
the  cook  some  mustard  and  a  jug  of  hot  water.  The 
orthodox  Indian  meal  could  not  be  had,  and  oatmeal 


120  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

had  to  be  taken  as  the  substitute,  to  Dinah's  great  dis- 
gust. Armed  with  what  she  could  get,  she  ran  up  to 
her  mistress. 

"  Deah  chile,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I'll  fix  it  all  rite ;" 
and  in  five  minutes  she  had  Isabel  undressed  and  in 
bed,  with  her  beautiful  throat  enveloj^ed  in  an  appli- 
ance which  my  American  readers  will  appreciate. 

"I  nebber  see  sech  a  house,"  said  Dinah;  "dey  ain't 
got  no  Injun  meel,  an'  dey  ain't  got  a  warmin'-pan." 

Isabel  was  almost  inclined  to  laugh  at  this  picture 
of  destitution,  but  she  was  too  miserable  to  be  amused. 
So  Dinah  sat  down  by  her  pillow,  and,  holding  the 
chilled  fingers  of  her  mistress  in  her  warm  hand, — her 
palm  was  as  soft  as  cut  velvet, — she  sang  over  and  over, 
in  a  low,  sweet  tone,  the  following  verses,  as  if  she  were 
repeating  a  nursery  song  to  a  child : 

In  de  Floridy  Ian'  is  de  dark-green  trees, 
Wbar  de  yaller  orange  hang  in  de  sun  ; 

Dere  bios  along  de  sweet,  sof  breez, 

Dat  de  pin  woods  giv  wen  de  day  is  dun. 

My  darlin'  sleep  in  de  hammuck  dere, 

Dat  swing  from  de  bows  in  de  ebenin'  shad, 

An'  de  skreecbin'  owl  shall  nebber  dare 
To  make  her  'ittl'  h'art  afrayd. 

"We  sail  a-deown  de  ribber  deep, 

De  alh^gatur  draw  de  bot ; 
An'  all  de  way  my  darlin'  sleep, 
Til'  on  de  see's  blew  wav  she  flot, — 
Til'  on  de  see's  blew  wav. 
She  flot, — she  flot. 

As  she  repeated  the  words  of  the  last  line,  dropping 
into  lower  and  lower  cadences,  any  prima  donna  in  the 
world  might  have  given  half  her  fortune  to  be  able  to 
catch  the  sweetness  of  her  tones. 

When  Lionel  came  up  for  the  night,  his  wife  was  in 
a  sound  sleep,  and  Dinah  surrendered  her  post.  In  the 
morning  all  danger  was  over.  Lady  Clare  knocked 
gently  at  the  door,  to  inquire  about  Isabel. 

"Oh,  Mis'  Cleer!"  Dinah  whispered,  "Missus  is  rite 
smart  better." 


AN  EARLY  WIDOW.  121 

Isabel  rose  about  noon,  and  allowed  Dinah  to  dress 
her.  Lionel  had  gone  out.  Isabel  wished  to  have  him 
arrange  for  their  immediate  return  to  Town,  feeling 
that  she  could  not  endure  another  day  in  that  dreary 
abode.  But  Dinah  did  not  think  that  her  mistress  ought 
to  travel  before  the  following  Monday ;  and,  as  Isabel 
was  now  entirely  submissive  to  that  faithful  creature, 
she  gave  up  the  plan  of  getting  away  at  once.  In  the 
afternoon  it  began  to  snow,  and  this  added  to  the 
gloom  within.  But  "time  and  the  hour  run  through 
the  roughest  day,"  which  means  that  all  such  miseries 
come  to  an  end.  On  the  next  Monday  Lionel  brought 
his  wife  safely  and  tenderly  back  to  Town,  and  she 
never  saw  Gascoigne  House  again  for  many  years,  nor 
wished  to  see  it. 


CHAPTER  YIIL 

AN   EARLY   WIDOW. 


Six  months  after  Lionel  and  Isabel  returned  to  their 
modest  ajDartment  in  Clarence  Terrace  from  their  visit 
to  his  ancestral  home,  he  received  another  promotion 
in  the  Foreign  Office,  and  his  salary  became  six  hun- 
dred pounds.  He  had  fairly  earned  this  rise  on  the 
ladder  of  official  life  by  his  industry  and  intelligence ; 
and,  if  the  truth  were  told,  his  love  for  his  beautiful 
wife  must  be  set  down  as  one  great  stimulus  of  his  am- 
bition. Isabel  began  to  find  that  she  had  retained  more 
of  what  she  had  learned  in  her  school  days  than  she 
had  until  now  been  aware  of;  and  in  some  ways,  by 
her  knowledge,  especially  of  the  institutions  and  his- 
tory of  her  own  country,  she  could  help  her  husband 
when  he  had  any  work  to  do  in  which  a  bit  of  ready 
information  could  aid  him.  She  was  quicker,  too,  than 
he  was,  and  she  could  often  suggest  to  him  a  better 
form  of  expression  than  his  own  when  his  writing 
needed  such  improvement.  These  discoveries  gave  her 
a  new  pleasure,  and  in  some  degree  compensated  for 

F  11 


122  JOHN  CHABAXES. 

her  disappointment  in  regard  to  his  family  and  all  their 
ways  and  doings.  Her  father,  prompt  in  the  perform- 
ance of  his  promise,  at  once  increased  her  income  so  as 
to  keep  it  equal  to  her  husband's  salary.  They  now 
felt  able  to  take  a  small  house  in  Mayfair,  which  was 
to  be  let,  quite  suitably  furnished,  by  a  family  who 
were  going  upon  the  Continent  for  a  long  absence. 
When  they  were  settled  in  this  abode,  Isabel  began  to 
make  new  acquaintances,  and  she  was  very  much  liked 
by  all  who  came  to  know  her.  Her  husband  wished 
her  to  be  presented  at  court,  but  she  was  unwilling 
to  ask  for  a  presentation  by  her  sister-in-law,  Lady 
Blanche.  The  gentleman  who  was  at  that  time  our 
minister  at  the  English  court  claimed  his  fair  country- 
woman, and  Isabel  was  presented  by  his  wife.  Sen- 
sation would  be  a  very  inappropriate  word  to  apply  to 
the  impression  which  she  produced ;  but  I  can  speak 
of  the  admiration  which  her  graceful  manners  and  her 
beauty  called  forth,  as  it  was  described  to  me  after- 
wards by  the  lady  who  heard  it  on  all  sides.  I  was 
told  that  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  simple  dignity  was  very 
striking,  and  that  she  appeared  to  be  entirely  uncon- 
scious of  her  own  charms. 

After  they  had  been  settled  in  their  new  house  for 
about  a  year  she  gave  birth  to  a  son,  a  perfectly  healthy 
child,  apparently  destined  to  inherit  the  good  looks  of 
both  his  parents.  Although  Dinah  might  have  claimed 
the  office,  an  English  nurse  was  accepted  by  Isabel,  in 
compliance  with  her  husband's  wish  ;  but  she  did  not 
make  this  woman  or  any  other  the  foster-mother  of  her 
child.  There  was  occasionally  some  bickering  between 
the  black  and  the  white  woman  about  the  baby ;  and 
when  he  was  in  that  state  of  dentition  which  makes 
mothers  somewhat  anxious,  there  was  a  battle  royal 
one  day  between  the  two  servants  about  the  regulation 
coral  which  the  English  woman  had  asked  Mrs.  Gas- 
coigne  to  order  for  him. 

"Dat  red  bone  ain't  no  yeouse,"  said  Dinah;  "I 
nebber  seen  no  good  givin'  a  baby  anyt'ing  as  hard  as 
dat  ter  bit." 

"Wot  do  you  know  about  babbies,  Miss  Dinah?" 


^.V  EARLY  WIDOW.  123 

asked  the  nurse,  in  great  scorn.  "Mind  your  /I'own 
bizness,  and  I  shall  mind  mine." 

"Bizness!"  exclaimed  Dinah,  "does  yeou  s'pose  I'm 
gwine  to  let  dis  chil's  teef  be  spiled  by  dat  little  red 
creow-bar?  Grive  um  de  end  of  a  nale-rod  an'  dun  wid 
it." 

"Didn't  I,"  said  the  irate  Mrs.  Walker,  "nuss  the 
JTonorable  .Hegerton  ^es^erton,  sec'nd  son  o'  my  Lord 
J^egerton,  as  is  now  at  JTeaton,  with  as  fine  a  set  of 
teeth  as  ever  was,  and  didn't  he  'ave  a  coral,  M'd  like 
to  know?" 

"Didn't  I  nuss  Missus  Thumas  Pringle's  last  baby?" 
shouted  Dinah,  "'  an'  does  yeou  s'pose  his  mudder  ever 
'lowed  'im  to  bit  anyt'ing  but  a  corn-cob  ?  Look  at  my 
teef.  Wot  does  yeou  s'pose  I's  razed  on  ?"  And  she 
showed  her  white  ivory,  as  regular  and  firm  as  ever 
grew  in  a  negro  head. 

It  was  quite  too  much  for  Dinah.  Marching  into 
her  mistress's  room  from  the  nursery,  she  said, — 

"'  Missus  Is'bel,  don't  let  de  baby's  teef  be  rooin'd  by 
dat  nuss.     Jess  yeou  rite  horn  an'  git  some  corn-cobs." 

"Some  what,  Dinah?" 

"  Corn-cobs,"  answered  Dinah;  "dem  small  wuns  dat 
grose  de  pop-corn.  Shell  orf  de  corn  an'  skrap  orf  de 
hulls,  an'  giv  um  de  'ittl'  end  to  bit.  It's  de  bess  t'ing 
in  de  wurld  for  a  baby's  teef" 

Isabel  laughed  and  promised  to  write  to  one  of  her 
sisters,  whose  maternal  experience  was  quite  consider- 
able;  but  probably  in  no  nursery  in  Boston  had  the 
question  between  corals  and  corn-cobs  been  considered 
for  many  generations. 

Not  long  after  this  little  domestic  flurry,  Lionel  told 
his  wife  that  he  had  been  asked  to  go  on  a  short  excur- 
sion in  the  Channel,  by  a  friend  of  his  in  the  Office  who 
had  a  yacht,  and  that  they  had  obtained  leave  of 
absence  for  five  days.  There  were  to  be  three  other 
gentlemen  of  the  party,  but  no  ladies. 

"  Will  you  mind,  Isabel,  if  I  leave  you  for  just  this 
short  trip  ?  " 

"  I  beg  you  will  go,"  she  said  ;  "  you  have  been  work- 
ing hard  lately  on  those  protocols,  and  you  need  some 


124  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

recreation.  I  shall  have  the  baby  and  Dinah,  and  I 
can  ask  your  aunt,  Mrs.  Bankside,  who  is  so  near,  to 
come  in  and  dine  with  me  every  evening." 

So  Lionel  and  his  friends  ran  down  to  Portsmouth, 
where  the  yacht  awaited  them,  and  were  soon  out  and 
running  under  a  spanking  breeze  towards  the  Channel 
islands. 

On  the  morning  of  the  next  day  after  their  little  voy- 
age began,  a  boy  belonging  to  the  crew  of  the  boat  fell 
overboard,  while  she  was  making  eight  knots.  The  sea 
w^as  not  rough,  but  the  boy  was  a  very  poor  swimmer. 
Life-preservers  were  thrown  to  him,  but  none  of  them 
came  within  his  reach.  The  boat  was  rounded  to,  to 
make  as  short  a  circuit  as  possible,  but  before  it  reached 
the  lad  he  went  down.  G-ascoigne  was  the  only  gentle- 
man of  the  party  who  was  on  deckat  the  time,  the  others 
being  below  at  breakfast.  He  was  an  expert  swimmer 
and  an  athletic  man.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  call 
upon  one  of  the  crew  to  go  overboard  and  save  the 
drowning  boy.  He  threw  off  his  coat,  pulled  off  his 
shoes,  and  was  over  the  side  in  an  instant.  He  swam 
with  strong  strokes  to  the  spot  where  the  boy  was  last 
seen,  meaning  probably  to  catch  him  when  he  came  up, 
or  to  dive  for  him.  On  a  sudden  he  threw  up  his  arms 
and  shouted,  "Cramp!"  He  was  distinctly  heard,  but 
before  any  assistance  could  reach  him  he  sank  and 
never  rose  again  alive. 

I  have  told  this  melancholy  story  as  simply  as  I 
could,  and  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  omitted  it.  But 
my  readers  know  that  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  make  my 
incidents.  Poor  Lionel !  He  lost  his  life  in  an  act  of 
heroism  characteristic  of  his  nation,  and,  let  us  believe, 
of  his  class.  The  Evolutionists  say  that  the  good  points 
of  a  race  Avill  sometimes  break  out  in  late  generations, 
while  the  intermediate  ones  will  be  but  poor  specimens 
of  human  nature ;  and  so,  conversely,  they  say  it  is 
with  the  bad  qualities  or  deformities,  which  may  have 
been  suppressed  but  will  reappear.  Perhaps  the  Gas- 
coigne  who  stood  at  Eunn^^mede  for  the  equal  rights 
of  all  free-born  Englishmen  had  something  in  his  blood 
that  reached  his  remote  descendant  and  made  him  of  a' 


AN  EARLY  WIDOW.  125 

better  mould  than  any  of  the  intermediate  kin.     If  bo, 
let  us  hope  that  poor  Lionel's  bo}^  got  his  share  of  it. 

But  how  was  this  dreadful  news  broken  to  the  young 
wife  who  had  so  amiably  consented  to  a  pleasure-trip 
that  she  was  not  to  share  ?  Many  j'ears  after  this  sad 
event  I  met  the  owner  of  the  yacht.  Sir  Lucius  Bennet, 
on  the  Continent  of  Europe,  at  a  capital  where  he  held 
a  high  diplomatic  post.  He  told  me  that  the  accident 
occurred  just  off  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  the  water 
was  not  very  deep.  After  sailing  about  and  over  the 
spot  for  an  hour  or  more,  as  they  had  no  means  for 
dragging  the  water,  and  had  to  abandon  all  hope,  they 
ran  into  the  nearest  port  for  assistance.  He  sent  two 
messages  from  that  place, — one  to  the  Foreign  Office 
and  one  to  the  Admiralty.  The  former  requested  the 
under-secretary  to  take  such  steps  as  he  could  to  have 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  informed  before  any  afternoon  paper 
should  publish  the  shocking  news.  The  under-secretary 
happened  to  be  in  the  office  when  the  message  came. 
He  drove  immediately  to  the  American  legation,  and 
the  lady  whom  I  have  already  mentioned,  wife  of  our 
minister,  went  with  him  to  the  house  of  Gascoigne's 
aunt  and  communicated  to  her  the  death  of  her  nephew. 
Mrs.  Bankside  was  the  person  who  told  Isabel, — how, 
my  informant  did  not  know ;  but  he  'said  the  whole 
society  of  London  was  moved  as  he  never  knew  it  to 
be  by  the  death  of  any  one  who  was  not  a  distinguished 
person.  The  sea,  he  informed  me,  remained  smooth 
through  the  whole  of  that  day,  and  a  small  steamer, 
sent  out  by  the  Admiralty,  and  guided  by  his  yacht 
to  the  place,  found  and  recovered  both  bodies  before 
the  sun  went  down.  Lionel's  remains  were  interred 
in  a  few  days  in  the  family  vault  in  the  church-yard 
at  Gascoigne  Manor,  and  on  the  wall  of  the  church  a 
tablet  was  placed  by  his  companions  of  the  fatal  excur- 
sion, on  which  may  still  be  read,  in  fitting  words,  the 
grand  deed  which  the  poor  fellow  tried  to  do.  I  asked 
Sir  Lucius  why  Gascoigne,  before  he  obeyed  the  noble 
impulse,  did  not  think  of  his  wife  and  child.  He 
replied  that  he  had  asked  himself  that  question  a  great 
many  times,  and  that  the  only  solution  he  could  ever 

11* 


126  JOHN   CHARAXES. 

see  was  that  Gascoigne  was  so  courageous,  so  much 
accustomed  to  the  water,  and  so  strong  a  man,  that 
it  probably  never  occurred  to  him  he  was  incurring  a 
great  peril.  One  of  Sir  Lucius's  friends  informed  me 
that  he  sold  his  yacht  immediately  after  Gascoigne's 
death,  and  had  never  since  been  on  the  water  for  any 
purpose  of  pleasure.  I  understood  that  Sir  Lucius  and 
Gascoigne  were  of  about  the  same  age  and  were  inti- 
mate friends.  The  position  to  which  the  survivor  had 
risen  made  me  think  of  what  Isabel's  life  would  have 
been  if  her  husband's  had  been  spared. 

This  gentleman,  Sir  Lucius  Bennet  (it  was  in  1856 
that  I  met  him),  made  many  inquiries  of  me  about  Mrs. 
Gascoigne.  He  said  her  husband  was  not  a  man  of 
remarkable  ability,  but  that  he  was  sensible  and  very 
industrious.  They  used  in  the  office,  he  remarked,  to 
think  that  his  bright  American  wife  helped  him  in  his 
work ;  the  under-secretary  often  said  that  Gascoigne's 
papers  showed  traces  of  a  finer  intellect  than  his  own. 
He  understood  that  she  had  been  very  gay  before  her 
marriage,  and  Mrs.  Bankside  did  not  suppose  that  she 
was  at  first  much  in  love  with  her  husband,  but  that 
she  afterwards  became  very  much  attached  to  him. 

"  I  hear,"  said  Sir  Lucius,  "  that  she  is  now  quite 
wealthy.  "Why  has  she  never  married  again?  She 
must  have  had  offers." 

"No,"  I  replied,  "  I  do  not  believe  she  has  had  one. 
If  she  has,  she  has  remained  single  from  choice." 

But  I  must  not  anticipate  Isabel's  history  after  her 
husband's  death.  Painful  as  it  is,  I  must  revert  to  that 
time ;  but  I  shall  pass  quickly  over  the  first  few  months 
of  her  widowhood.  I  am  not  made  of  adamant.  Old 
as  I  am,  I  have  a  heart  that  can  feel,  even  for  a  grief 
that  is  as  far  back  as  this  one.  But  why  should  I  dwell 
upon  the  shocking  suddenness  of  her  husband's  death, 
coming  when  a  prosperous  career  was  just  opening  to 
him,  the  brave  young  father  drowned  in  twenty-four 
hours  after  he  had  parted  in  full  strength  and  activity 
from  his  lovel}^  wife  and  child  ?  Why  should  I  speak 
of  her  new  life,  cut  short  just  as  she  was  beginning  to 
accommodate  herself  to  the  chances  that  she  told  her 


AN  EARLY  JVIDOW.  127 

father  she  was  willing  to  take,  and  to  find  that  there 
was  more  of  happiness  than  of  annoyance  in  what  they 
were  bringing  to  her  ?  The  ways  of  Providence  are 
past  finding  out,  and  therefore  let  no  one  presume  to 
interpret  what  befell  her  as  if  it  were  a  retribution. 

Isabel  had  probably  given  to  her  husband  at  first  less 
love  than  he  gave  to  her,  but  it  came  to  be  a  very  satis- 
fying return  of  his  affection,  and  she  mourned  for  him 
with  all  the  tenderness  of  her  nature.  He  was  more 
than  a  true  gentleman  and  a  pleasant  companion :  he 
was  as  tender  a  husband  as  he  knew  how  to  be.  For 
the  few  years  that  they  were  together  she  was  an  ex- 
cellent wife.  Her  happiness  was  becoming  complete, 
when  the  dreadful  end  of  it  came  so  suddenly.  It  is 
mercifully  provided  that  where  there  is  good  temper, 
good  conduct,  and  ground  for  mutual  confidence  and 
esteem,  love  shall  grow  as  life  goes  on.  Isabel  learned 
that  the  food  of  general  admiration  is  not  a  nutriment 
that  will  give  a  woman  of  sense  supreme  satisfactio-n. 
This  change  I  observed  in  her  when  I  came  to  see  her 
again.  The  influence  of  a  great  fault  committed  in 
early  life,  the  memory  of  which  cannot  be  lost,  may  be 
very  powerful  in  shaping  character  to  the  finest  mould. 
I  did  not  discover  in  Isabel,  for  many  years,  any  signs 
of  her  remembrance  of  the  one  great  error  of  her  hfe ; 
and  to  me  its  mystery  was  never  solved.  But  I  saw  the 
change  in  her;  and  as  I  have  some  confidence  in  my 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  I  am  able  to  describe  how 
it  was  that  her  character  became  developed  into  one 
that  might  not  have  been  anticipated  from  her  life  be- 
fore her  marriage.  As  sorrow  does  not  always  crush 
us,  so  the  memorj"  of  any  wrong  that  we  have  done 
does  not  always  deprive  us  of  the  power  to  rise  above 
it.  Isabel  mourned  sincerely  for  her  brave  husband, 
and  this  all  could  see.  If  she  ever  thought  with  ten- 
derness of  Henry  Brewster,  no  one  could  know  it. 

But  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things  that  a  woman 
who  was  so  lovely  in  person  and  so  sweet  in  disposition 
should  not  continue  to  be  admired.  The  same  American 
lady,  wife  of  our  minister,  who  did  not  know  Mrs.  G-as- 
coigne  before  she  came  to  London,  told  me,  on  her 


128  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

return  home,  that  it  was  one  of  the  most  interesting 
sights  in  the  world  to  see  her  in  a  widow's  cap,  with 
her  baby  in  her  arms.  This  lady  was  often  admitted 
into  Isabel's  own  room,  while  she  remained  in  London. 
She  said  that  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  figure  was  a  little  fuller 
than  it  was  when  she  arrived  in  England,  but  that  it 
had  retained  its  perfect  symmetry.  She  described  her 
dark-brown  tresses,  falling  below  her  cap  and  shading 
her  delicate  cheek  ;  her  complexion,  which  had  been  a 
little  heightened  by  the  English  climate ;  and  she  said 
that  she  never  saw  a  more  beautiful  or  a  more  interest- 
ing woman.  Thackeray,  in  his  "  Pendennis,"  has  said 
that  he  did  not  think  it  was  national  prejudice  which 
made  him  believe  that  "  a  high-bred  English  lady  is  the 
most  complete  of  all  heaven's  subjects  in  this  world;" 
and  he  took  some  pains  to  let  us  know  that  by  "  high- 
bred" he  did  not  mean  duchesses  and  countesses.  For  my 
part,  I  do  not  profess  to  be  altogether  without  national 
prejudice ;  but,  after  making  due  allowance  for  that  kind 
of  bias,  and  taking  the  great  novelist's  definition  of  high 
breeding  just  as  he  meant  Ft,  I  am  disposed  to  think 
that  a  high-bred  American  woman,  who  has  had  some 
experience  in  life  in  a  different  society  from  that  of  her 
own  land,  and  who  has  the  qualities  that  I  admired  in 
Isabel  Gascoigne,  is  a  lady  to  be  put  on  a  par  with  any 
of  her  sex  in  any  part  of  the  world.  I  say  this  with- 
out the  least  disparagement  of  our  fair  English  cousins, 
many  of  whom  I  have  found  to  be  most  charming 
women,  and  the  best  of  wives  and  mothers.  Neither 
am  I  in  the  least  inclined  to  portray  Isabel  as  one  of 
those  angelic  women  in  whose  natures — as  Thackeray 
found  a  few  such — there  is  '•  something  awful  as  well  as 
beautiful  to  contemplate."  She  never  became  another 
Mrs.  Pendennis.  I  have  not  concealed  her  faults  and 
failings  ;  and  in  expecting  my  readers  to  hold  her  in  as 
high  estimation  as  I  did,  I  do  not  ask  them  to  overlook 
a  single  trait  that  they  ought  to  disapprove.  The 
American  lady  who  saw  her  in  London  after  her  hus- 
band's death  was  no  doubt  partial  to  the  best  American 
type  of  beauty  and  character ;  and  I,  who  knew  Isabel 
so  well,  could  easily  believe  all  that  I  heard.     One  of 


AN  EARLY  WIDOW.  129 

the  pleasantest  things  that  I  heard  was  that  the  love 
which  she  manifested  for  her  child — the  dehght  of  the 
mother  in  her  fine  boy — won  for  her  the  regard  of  all 
who  saw  them.  I  was  told  that  the  Americans  in  Eng- 
land who  knew  her  were  very  proud  of  her,  and  that 
the  EngUsh  never  spoke  of  her  without  strong  ex- 
pressions of  respect  and  the  tenderest  sympathy.  I 
repeated  these  things  to  my  wife,  who  said  that  they 
confirmed  my  opinion,  that  Mrs.  Gascoigne  had  ad- 
mirable qualities  as  well  as  beauty,  notwithstanding 
her  early  faults,  as  I  had  always  maintained. 

I  trust  that,  for  Isabel's  peace  of  mind,  her  thoughts 
were  wholly — as  I  am  sure  they  were  chiefly — occupied 
with  her  child.  But  after  she  had  been  for  some  time 
a  widow,  was  there  in  her  inmost  heart  a  memory  that 
"  would  not  down  ?"  From  the  moment  when  Henry 
Brewster  left  her  father's  house  for  the  last  time, — no 
word  of  farewell  spoken  between  them,  no  sign  of  in- 
terest manifested  by  her,  not  the  feeblest  expression  of 
a  hope  for  his  welfare, — no  tidings  of  him  had  reached 
her.  She  did  not  know  if  he  were  living  or  dead.  She 
did  not  know  whether  he  had  ever  heard  of  her  mar- 
riage, or  that  she  was  now  a  widow.  If  they  were  to 
meet,  would  it  be  possible, — I  used  sometimes  to  ask 
myself, — would  it  be  possible  for  her,  by  word  or  look 
or  sign,  to  make  him  feel  that  through  all  these  years 
of  separation  there  had  been  in  her  heart  a  deep  con- 
trition ?  He  might  be  married,  and  then  there  could 
be  no  hope  of  her  being  able  to  let  him  see, — if  such 
thoughts  ever  entered  her  mind,  no  one  could  know  it. 
But  I,  who  knew  a  great  deal  of  her  nature,  or  thought 
I  did,  often  speculated  about  her  possible  future.  My 
wife,  for  long,  long  years  after  the  death  of  Lionel 
Gascoigne,  looked  for  something  to  happen  that  would 
bring  Brewster  and  Isabel  together  again. 

Mi".  Bradshaw  did  not  ask  his  daughter  to  come  home 
after  her  husband's  death.  He  was  uncertain  whether, 
on  account  of  her  child  and  the  possible  wishes  of  Lord 
Gascoigne,  he  ought  to  propose  to  her  to  leave  England. 
He  doubled  her  allowance,  so  that  she  might  suffer  no 
inconvenience   from  the  loss  of  her  husband's  salary, 


130  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

and  left  it  to  herself  to  determine  when  she  would  ask 
him  to  receive  her.  Dinah  was  with  her,  and  all  at 
home  knew  that  she  would  be  faithfully  cared  for  in 
everything  that  such  a  devoted  servant  could  do  for 
her  welfare.  She  remained  in  England  until  her  boy 
was  three  years  old,  waiting  to  learn  if  the  Gascoigne 
family  had  any  wishes  or  plans  about  the  child.  Neither 
of  her  husband's  brothers  had  then  married  or  seemed 
likely  to  marry.  Her  boy  was  therefore  the  presump- 
tive heir  to  the  estate  and  the  title,  next  after  both  of 
his  uncles.  But  the  old  lord  and  his  sons  thought 
that  the  Boston  merchant  should  do  for  his  grandson 
what  they  knew  very  well  they  would  not  or  could  not 
do  themselves.  They  did  not  say  so,  but  they  delayed 
saying  anything  to  Mrs.  G-ascoigne,  because  they  had 
nothing  to  say.  The  child's  education  might  perhaps 
be  squeezed  out  of  the  estate,  in  a  niggardly  way  ;  but 
how  about  the  means  of  supporting  the  dignity  of 
the  title,  if  he  should  ever  come  to  it  ?  The  old  lord 
looked  for  nothing  for  himself  but  to  be  gathered  to 
his  fathers  in  peace.  The  young  lord  thought  it  highly 
probable  that  this  child  of  his  youngest  brother  would 
one  day  be  Earl  Gascoigne ;  but  was  he  to  labor  all  his 
remaining  days  for  this  infant  ?  The  clerical  brother 
took  much  the  same  view.  Lady  Blanche  and  Lady 
Maud  did  not  see  any  farther  into  the  millstone.  Only 
Lady  Clare  wished  to  have  her  sister-in-law  remain  in 
England,  and  to  have  the  boy  recognized  as  the  pre- 
sumptive heir. 

Isabel,  as  she  told  me  afterwards,  did  not  think  the 
matter  of  the  child's  education  was  the  principal  diffi- 
culty. She  could  herself  provide  for  it,  without  any 
other  appeal  to  her  father's  bounty,  if  she  were  not  re- 
quired to  educate  him  as  a  future  nobleman.  She  was 
fully  aware  that  to  be  an  English  earl,  one  of  the  peers 
of  the  realm,  if  her  boy  should  ever  come  to  that  dignity, 
would  be  a  grand  thing.  But  she  did  not  believe  that 
her  father's  money  could  be,  or  ought  to  be,  devoted 
to  the  rescue  of  the  Gascoigne  estate  or  to  a  new  en- 
dowment of  the  ancient  title,  ^yhatever  fortune,  too, 
she  might  reasonably  expect  from  her  feather,  although 


AN  EARLY  WIDOW.  131 

it  would  probably  be  ample  for  her  and  her  son  in 
America,  would  not  be  enough  to  enable  him  to  support 
the  dignity  of  an  earldom,  even  if  she  herself  were  to 
live  in  a  garret.  She  Avas  slowly  but  surely  reaching  a 
conclusion,  when  the  question  was  providentially  set- 
tled for  her.  She  suddenly  received  intelligence  that 
her  father  had  died  after  a  short  illness,  and  that  he 
liad  left  no  will.  She  was  now  heiress,  therefore,  to 
one-fourth  of  her  father's  estate,  subject  to  her  mother's 
life-interest  in  one-third  of  it.  Mr.  Bradshaw's  property 
proved  to  be  a  very  large  one,  as  wealth  was  estimated 
in  those  days. 

This  second  bereavement  was  made  specially  painful 
to  her  by  the  recollection  of  her  father's  kindness  at 
the  time  of  her  marriage.  She  reproached  herself  for 
not  having  gone  home  immediately  after  her  husband's 
death.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  years  which  she  had 
lost  in  fruitless  waiting  for  some  action  or  expression 
by  the  Gascoigne  family  concerning  her  child  had  been 
robbed  from  her  father.  She  must  now  go  immediately 
to  her  mother  and  sisters.  As  soon  as  she  could  arrange 
the  little  she  had  to  attend  to  she  embarked  with  Dinah 
aud  her  child  for  America.  She  determined  to  bring 
no  English  servant,  and  the  little  boy  was  easily  weaned 
by  Dinah  from  his  English  nurse.  Lady  Glare  managed 
to  come  to  Bath,  where  Isabel  had  lived  for  some  time, 
— she  gave  up  her  residence  in  London  soon  after  her 
husband's  death, — to  take  leave  of  her.  No  other 
member  of  the  Gascoigne  family  came  to  bid  her  fare- 
well. 

She  landed  in  Boston  on  her  twenty -ninth  birthday, 
the  20th  of  June,  1842.  On  the  day  before  that  on 
which  the  packet  was  expected  her  mother  sent  me  a 
message,  asking  me,  as  an  old  friend,  to  meet  her  at  the 
vessel  and  bring  her  "  home."  She  had  been  gone  six 
years.  If  the  lady  who  saw  her  in  London  thought 
her  a- very  beautiful  woman,  I  certainly  was  not  less 
impressed  by  her  beauty  and  her  charming  manners. 
She  was  in  deep  mourning,  but  no  dress  could  darken 
her  winning  presence  or  obscure  her  smile. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  come  and  meet  me,"  she  said, 


132  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

"and  how  is  your  dear  wife,  whom  I  shall  now  know? 
I  received  the  announcement  of  your  marriage  with 
great  joy,  and  I  trust  the  little  present  I  sent  to  your 
wife  came  safely.  But  ah !  my  old  friend,  to  what 
have  I  come  home?  To  think  that  my  father  should 
have  died  and  that  I  was  away  from  him !  It  is  too 
sad." 

Tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  her  voice  became  choked 
with  grief.  For  the  rest  of  the  drive  through  the 
noisy  streets  neither  of  us  spoke.  The  carriage  stopped 
at  her  mother's  house,  on  the  very  same  spot  where  I 
saw  her  depart,  as  a  bride,  to  cross  the  great  Atlantic, 
so  many  j^ears  before.  She  had  returned  a  widow.  If 
the  stones  before  our  dwellings  could  tell  of  all  that  has 
been  said  or  felt  by  those  who  have  trodden  them,  what 
a  record  there  would  be  at  some  doors !  As  I  handed 
her  out  of  the  carriage  I  thought  of  her  last  words, 
spoken  to  me,  as  she  went  away.  I  parodied  them  by 
saying,  "  Be  thankful  as  I  am  that  you  are  safe  back 
again."  She  smiled  through  her  tears,  as  if  she  too 
remembered,  and  then,  offering  her  hand,  she  said, — 

"  Come  and  see  me  soon  and  bring  your  wife.  Give 
her  my  love,  if  I  may  presume  to  send  it." 

I  let  her  go  in,  followed  only  by  Dinah  with  the 
little  boy. 

My  wife  and  I  both  felt  a  strong  interest — you  can 
say  curiosity,  if  you  like — to  learn  what  had  been  the 
effect  on  Mrs.  Gascoigne  of  her  life  in  England.  My 
wife,  indeed,  could  not  compare  the  present  with  the 
former  Isabel,  as  I  could,  from  personal  observation.  I 
was  anxious,  however,  to  have  her  know  the  beautiful 
widow  of  whom  she  had  heard  so  much,  and  she  readily 
assented  to  my  proposal  to  call  upon  her  a  few  days 
after  her  arrival.  We  were  shown  into  the  drawing- 
room,  where  I  had  formerly  been  so  often,  and  had  wit- 
nessed so  many  of  my  fair  friend's  performances  in  the 
days  of  her  girlhood.  She  came  down  with  her  usual 
grace,  and  when  I  presented  my  wife  to  her  she  said, — 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  Mrs.  Boylston,  for  the  priv- 
ilege of  knowing  you.  Your  husband  is  one  of  my 
oldest,  and  has  always  been  one  of  my  best,  friends.     I 


AN  EARLY  WIDOW.  133 

hope  you  will  share  the  friendship  and  regard  for  me 
that  he  has  so  long  extended  to  me." 

Then,  turning  to  me,  she  remarked  that  if  she  were 
to  take  my  wife's  looks  for  a  measure  of  time,  although 
she  had  not  met  her  before,  her  own  absence  would 
seem  very  short.  I  thought  this  a  most  delicate  com- 
pliment, and  probably  my  readers  will  agree  with  me. 
At  all  events,  it  was  not  lost  upon  me.  I  asked  about 
her  mother. 

"  She  is  well,  but  you  do  not  need  to  be  told  how  this 
loss  afflicts  her.  I  am  thankful  that  I  came  immedi- 
ately. You  can  scarcely  imagine  what  a  relief  it  has 
been  to  me  to  learn  about  my  father's  brief  illness. 
They  tell  me  that  he  was  entirely  himself  to  the  last, 
and  that  he  charged  them  to  repeat  to  me  his  blessing. 
He  spoke  of  my  boy,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  have 
him  brought  up  as  an  American  citizen.  This  was  so 
like  my  father  !  You  have  been,  I  think,  3Ir.  Boylston, 
at  his  country-house,  and  you  may  remember  that  he 
always  kept  the  stars  and  stripes  floating  from  a  flag- 
staff where  he  could  see  them  from  a  window  of  his 
bedroom.  He  had  that  flag-staff  made  from  the  top- 
mast of  one  of  his  ships." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  he  was  a  noble  specimen  of  an 
American  merchant.  His  wishes  about  your  son  will 
perhaps  conflict  with  those  of  your  husband's  family  ?" 
I  thought  I  would  hazard  this  inquiry  in  a  gentle  way, 
but  she  met  it  frankly  and  directly. 

"]^o,"  she  answered,  "there  is  no  likelihood  of  that; 
and  if  there  were  it  would  not  influence  me.  I  am 
only  too  glad  to  be  again  in  my  own  country,  and  I 
look  for  nothing  for  my  child  from  his  English  con- 
nections. I  tell  you  of  my  feelings  on  these  matters 
because  we  are  old  friends,  and  because  I  know  I  shall 
have  your  sympathy,  3Ir.  Boylston,  and  I  am  sure  your 
wife's  will  go  with  yours." 

I  asked  her  if  she  expected  to  remain  in  Boston 
through  the  summer. 

"I  think  so,"  she  replied;  "my  mother  feels  that  she 
can  hardly  go  again  to  our  place  in  the  country,  at 
least  for  the  present,  and  I  shall  not  leave  her.     The 

12 


134  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

affairs  of  my  father's  estate  will  make  it  necessary  for 
us  all  to  be  where  the  lawyers  can  most  easily  see  us 
on  business.  For  the  same  reason,  my  sisters  and  their 
husbands  will  remain  in  town.  I  do  not  think  that  my 
little  boy  will  need  to  be  taken  out  of  Boston." 

My  wife  asked  to  see  the  child.  Mrs.  G-ascoigne  re- 
quested me  to  ring  the  bell,  and  told  the  servant  Avho 
answered  it  to  ask  Dinah  to  bring  him  down.  I  never 
saw  a  finer  child.  Euddy  and  strong,  he  was  a  good 
specimen  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  and  the  American  blood 
united  in  his  little  person.  He  ran  instantly  to  his 
mother,  who  lifted  him  upon  her  lap. 

"  Dinah,"  she  said,  "  took  him  out  upon  the  Common 
yesterday,  and  the  Uttle  monkey  wanted  to  wade  in  the 
frog-pond." 

"Yaas,  Missus  Is'bel,"  said  Dinah,  "dat  pon's  too 
muddy  for  dis  chile's  feet." 

"What  is  his  name,  Mrs.  Gascoigne?"  my  wife  asked. 

"  James  Bradshaw.  My  husband's  family  wished  to 
have  him  baptized  by  some  of  the  names  that  had  been 
repeated  among  them  for  generations,  and,  if  I  had  not 
felt  such  a  strong  desire  to  give  him  my  father's  name, 
I  should  have  chosen  my  husband's.  But  he  most 
amiably  and  generously  permitted  me  to  call  him  for 
my  father,  whose  kindness  to  both  of  us  at  the  time 
of  our  marriage,  you,  Mr.  Boylston,  cannot  have  for- 
gotten. The  family,  I  believe,  thought  that  Bradshaw 
came  rather  near  the  old  regicide,  but  I  am  not  aware 
that  my  father  was  descended  from  the  famous  presi- 
dent of  the  regicide  court,  and  my  husband  did  not 
think  it  mattered  much  if  he  was." 

"Kot  the  least  in  the  world,"  was  my  answer. 

As  she  had  thus  alluded  to  her  husband,  I  ventured 
to  say  that  her  father  had  frequently  spoken  of  him  to 
me,  and  had  expressed  his  belief  that  he  would  become 
a  distinguished  man;  "and  I  think,"  I  added,  "that 
your  father  was  aware  of  the  happiness  of  your  mar- 
ried life." 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  husband,"  she  said,  with  deep  feeling, 
"  he  was  a  noble  fellow,  and  I  do  not  know  how  it  was 
that  I  could  meet,  as  I  believe  I  did,  his  shocking  death. 


AN  EARLY  WIDOW.  135 

I  suppose  that  I  was  sustained  by  the  sympathy  that 
surrounded  me  and  by  the  thought  that  I  must  live  for 
this  child.  From  no  one  of  my  husband's  immediate 
family,  however,  did  I  receive  much  comfort,  excepting 
from  his  youngest  sister,  and  she  was  not  a  person  of 
strong  character.  I  ought,  however,  to  speak  of  his 
aunt,  Mrs.  Bankside,  with  the  utmost  gratitude  and  re- 
spect. She  was  not  a  Gascoigne.  She  was  his  mother's 
sister ;  a  gentle  person,  but  one  of  an  uncommon  ability 
to  be  helpful  in  such  a  calamity.  She  was  a  religious 
woman,  and  I  think  she  did  me  more  good  in  leading 
me  to  something  like  submission  to  the  will  of  heaven 
than  any  other  person  I  have  ever  known.  But  I  am 
talking  to  you  too  much  about  myself  and  my  grief  I 
have  come  home, — I  have  my  boy,  and  I  can  bring 
him  up  as  I  wish." 

"You  must  not  feel,  Mrs.  G-ascoigne,"  said  my  wife, 
"  that  we  are  not  interested  in  your  sorrows.  This  is 
my  first  visit  to  you ;  it  is  to  a  house  of  mourning,  and 
your  lot  has  been  an  exceedingly  trying  one.  But  it 
has  many  alleviations." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Mrs.  Boylston,"  she  answered,  "  and 
I  hope  I  am  not  ungrateful  for  the  blessings  that  re- 
main to  me.  I  shall  not  feel  that  your  sympathy  will 
be  wanting  to  me.  You  will  both  come  to  see  me 
often,  I  hope,  and  I  presume  you  will  not  at  present, 
Mrs.  Boylston,  expect  any  return  of  your  visits." 

My  wife  assured  her  that  she  certainly  should  not, 
and  then,  after  we  had  answered  her  inquiries  about 
other  friends  of  whom  she  spoke,  we  took  leave  of  her. 

When  we  were  again  at  home,  in  our  neat  little  parlor, 
I  asked  my  wife  what  she  thought  of  Mrs.  Gascoigne. 

"  You  were  right,  Peter,"  she  answered,  "  for  once  in 
your  life.  She  has  fine  qualities.  With  what  genuine 
feeling  she  spoke  of  her  father.  Did  you  not  notice 
her  emotion  ?  That  woman  has  real  tenderness  in  her 
nature.  Do  you  think  she  will  ever  say  anything  to 
you  about  Brewster?  You  have  known  her  so  inti- 
mately, and  you  were  such  a  friend  of  his,  she  may 
speak  of  him  to  you.  She  seems  to  be  a  very  frank 
and  open-hearted  woman." 


136  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

"]\Iy  dear,  it  is  impossible  that  she  should  ever  make 
the  smallest  allusion  to  him.  There  is  a  mystery  about 
that  matter  which  will  always  render  it  impracticable 
for  her  even  to  ask  me  if  he  is  living." 

"  I  do  not  feel  so  sure  of  that,"  said  my  wife.  "  I 
judge  of  her  as  one  woman  judges  of  another.  She 
cannot  have  lost  all  interest  in  him,  even  if  she  does 
not  now  feel  any  special  tenderness  towards  him.  She 
can  hardly  see  you  without  thinking  of  him.  She 
might,  without  any  deliberation  or  purpose,  make  some 
allusion  to  him  or  ask  you  some  question.  You  had  bet- 
ter be  on  your  guard  and  be  prepared  with  an  answer." 

"Never  fear.  That  affair  is  too  mysterious  and  too 
deeply  buried  in  her  heart  for  her  to  speak  to  me  on 
the  subject." 

"  Suppose  she  were  to  speak  to  me  about  him,  and 
ask  me  where  he  lives,  or  whether  he  is  married.  She 
must  be  aware  that  I  know  the  story,  and,  as  she  and  I 
are  likely  to  become  intimate,  she  may  prefer  to  ask 
me  rather  than  you.  If  she  does,  what  am  I  to  say? 
Is  he  married  or  engaged  ?  I  know  that  he  lives  at 
Detroit,  but  that  is  all  I  know." 

"  The  breaking  off  of  that  engagement,  my  dear  wife, 
TS  a  mystery  that  no  one  ever  understood,  and  as  she 
alone  could  explain  it,  and  she  did  not  choose  to  do  so, 
it  must  now  be  a  matter  to  which  she  could  not  make 
any  allusion.  She  may  feel  interest,  or  curiosity,  or 
anything  else  concerning  Brewster,  but  she  cannot 
speak  of  him." 

"  I  look  at  this  matter  now,  Peter,  somewhat  differ- 
ently from  the  way  I  looked  at  it  formerly,  when  I 
only  knew  what  you  had  told  me  and  when  I  had  not 
seen  her.  I  am  now  convinced  that  she  has  great  ten- 
derness of  heart,  and  it  cannot  well  be  that  a  woman 
of  such  a  heart,  who  had  done  what  she  did,  should 
not  wish  to  atone  for  it  to  the  man  whom  she  made  to 
suffer,  if  any  atonement  is  possible.  I  can  believe  that 
she  did  love  Henry  Brewster,  but  that  for  some  reason, 
sufficient  or  insufficient,  her  love  suddenly  died.  That 
makes  what  you  consider  the  mystery.  But  it  is  a 
mystery  to  us,  not  to  her ;  she  could  explain  it  in  five 


^.Y  EARLY  WIDOW.  137 

minutes  or  less.  "What  is  to  prevent  her  explaining  it 
to  him,  if  they  should  ever  meet  ?  If  he  is  married,  or 
if  he  loves  another  woman,  of  course  any  explanation 
is  out  of  the  question ;  otherwise  it  is  within  the  range 
of  possibilities  and  probabilities,  and  for  that  reason  I 
think  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  tell  me  what  you 
know  about  him.  She  will  probably  have  a  \evy  con- 
siderable fortune,  and  it  would  really  be  poetical  jus- 
tice if  Brewster  were  to  have  the  benefit  of  it.  And 
what  an  excellent  guardian  he  would  be  to  her  boy." 

•'  Bless  your  heart,  my  dear  wife,  how  nicely  you  have 
arranged  it  all.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know,  for  I 
would  not  keep  from  you  anything  that  honor  did  not 
require  me  to  keep  to  myself  I  do  not  know  that 
Brewster  is  married,  or  is  engaged  to  any  woman,  or  is 
likely  to  be.  I  have  not  wished  to  ask  him.  I  only 
know  that  he  is  becoming  very  distinguished  in  his 
profession  for  so  young  a  man,  and  is  leading  a  very 
active  life.  He  is  only  thirty-two  now.  But.  you  see, 
whatever  it  was  that  made  Isabel  do  as  she  did,  and 
whatever  the  explanation  might  be,  Henry  would  not 
marry  her,  money  or  no  money.  Besides,  your  dream, 
or  romantic  forecasting  of  what  may  possibly  happen, 
supposes  that  she  would  wish  to  marry  him.  The  one 
is  as  much  out  of  the  question  as  the  other.  I  will 
give  you  the  best  dress  that  I  can  afford  to  buy  if,  at 
the  end  of  any  number  of  years,  you  do  not  have  to 
say  that  I  have  been  right  twice  in  my  life." 

•■  We  shall  see,  Peter.  I  wish  I  could  offer  you  a  bet 
which  you  would  not  have  to  pay  yourself,  whether 
you  won  or  lost.  But  as  I  have  no  separate  purse,  my 
dear.  I  will  let  you  off  on  the  dress  now,  for  I  feel  con- 
fident that  I  shall  not  win  it.  You  are  quite  safe.  If 
they  ever  meet,  and  he  is  not  married  or  in  love  with 
some  one  else,  there  will  be  an  explanation." 

At  this  moment  our  waitress  came  to  call  us  to  our 
modest  dinner,  and  in  her  presence  this  topic  had  to  be 
avoided.  But  although  I  did  not  share  my  wife's  ex- 
pectation, I  was  very  glad  that  she  had  formed  such  a 
favorable  opinion  of  Itrs.  G-asgoigne. 

I  have  now  to  relate  briefly  Isabel's  subsequent  his- 
12* 


138  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

tory  for  a  period  of  seventeen  years  after  her  return 
to  Boston.  Her  mother  died  in  about  six  j^ears  after 
the  death  of  her  father.  By  that  time  the  demand  for 
commercial  buildings  had  made  the  Bradshaw  resi- 
dence in  Pearl  Street  untenable  by  such  a  family.  The 
house  was  sold  to  great  advantage  in  1851,  and  Mrs. 
Gascoigne  purchased  for  herself  a  very  fine  one  in  that 
part  of  Boston  which  began  to  be  known  as  "the  new 
land,"  where  the  Public  G-arden,  Commonwealth  Avenue, 
and  a  world  of  regular  streets  have  since  been  created 
on  what  was  formerly  a  marsh.  Although  she  became 
a  woman  of  fashion,  and  entertained  a  good  deal,  Isabel's 
chief  interest  in  life  was  now  centred  in  the  education 
of  her  son.  The  boy's  paternal  grandfather  in  England 
died  when  he  was  eight  years  old ;  his  uncle,  the  new 
Lord  Gascoigne,  married  and  had  an  heir ;  so  that 
the  probability  of  a  James  Bradshaw,  Earl  Gascoigne, 
dwindled  to  a  slender  chance,  as  Isabel's  father  would 
have  wished  it  might,  and  as  she  herself  was  content  to 
have  it.  She  led  an  apparently  happy  life,  seeing  the 
friends  that  she  liked,  among  whom  my  wife  and  I  held 
a  foremost  place,  doing  some  good  with  her  money,  and 
devoting  herself  to  her  son.  She  did  not  become  what 
is  called  a  literary  woman,  but  she  lived  in  an  intel- 
lectual atmosphere,  and  she  read  a  great  deal,  that  she 
might  not  be  behind  other  ladies  in  the  same  society, 
and  that  she  might  be  qualified  to  direct  her  son's 
earlier  studies,  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  choose  good 
teachers. 


CHAPTEE   IX. 

WILL    SHE    MARRY   AGAIN? 

When  Mrs.  Gascoigne  found  it  necessary  to  have  a 
house  of  her  own  she  had  no  female  relative  whom  she 
could  ask  to  live  with  her.  One  of  the  daughters  of 
her  eldest  sister  was  married,  and  all  her  other  nieces 
had  happy  homes  that  none  of  them  could  leave.  She 
needed,  too,  an  elderly  person,  and  it  was  difficult  to 


WILL  SHE  MARRY  AGAIN?  139 

find  the  right  one.  Do  not  imagine,  respected  reader, 
that  T  am  going  to  introduce  a  shabby  companion  in  a 
dyed  silk,  sitting  behind  in  the  opera-box  or  occupying 
the  back  seat  in  the  barouche.  Such  females  are  use- 
ful in  novels ;  they  are  not  a  part  of  my  characters. 
After  considerable  inquiry,  while  her  new  house  was 
slowly  getting  in  order,  Isabel  learned  accidentally  that 
a  lady,  who  was  one  of  her  teachers  when  she  was  at 
school,  had  been  for  many  years  retired  from  that  occu- 
pation, and  was  living  in  the  country  on  the  income  of  a 
small  property  which  represented  the  savings  of  her  life. 
Isabel  recollected  her  as  an  amiable  and  intelligent 
woman,  and,  having  procured  her  address,  she  wrote  to 
her  a  note,  which,  with  her  answer,  I  am  able  to  give. 

"  Tremoxt  House,  Boston,  May  10,  1851. 
"Dear  Miss  Simmons, — When  you  read  the  name  at 
the  end  of  this  note  you  may  not  at  once  know  who  I 
am,  but  I  hope  you  have  not  forgotten  Isabel  Brad- 
shaw,  who  used  to  tease  you  so  much  about  her  com- 
positions. My  father  and  mother  you  surely  remember, 
for  you  were  often  at  their  house  in  Pearl  Street. 
I  lost  my  father  in  1842,  and  I  have  recently  lost  my 
dear  mother.  I  was  married  after  you  left  Boston. 
My  husband  was  an  English  gentleman.  He  died  in 
England,  and  since  I  returned  home  I  have  lived  with 
my  mother.  Her  house  has  been  sold,  and  is  to  be 
taken  down.  I  am  about  to  occupy  a  new  one,  in 
which  I  shall  feel  lost  if  I  have  no  one  in  it  but  my 
little  boy  and  my  servants.  Will  you  accept  of  a  home 
with  me,  and  let  me  make  any  addition  to  your  income 
that  you  may  name  ?  I  do  not  wish  for  a  dame  de  com- 
pagnie,  or  a  companion,  or  a  house-keeper,  or  anything 
but  a  friend  ;  and  if  you  will  be  that  friend,  you  will 
find  one  who  will  be  very  grateful  to  you  for  the  sac- 
rifices you  may  have  to  make  in  changing  your  abode, 
and  who  will  take  care  of  you  to  the  end  of  your  days, 
in  case  you  should  remain,  as  I  hope  you  will,  for  the 
rest  of  your  life,  with 

"  Your  former  pupil, 

'•  Isabella  Gascoigne." 


140  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

."  East  Bridgewater,  May  14,  1851. 
"  Dear  Mrs.  Gascoigne, — An  old  lady  of  sixty,  who 
has  been   away  from  Boston  for  fifteen  years,  living 
among  her  flowers  and  with  a  canar^'-bird  for  a  pet, 
without  either  cat  or  dog, — doing  a  little  worsted  work 
and  reading  her  Bible  and  her  Shakespeare, — will,  I 
fear,  scarcely  be  able  to  meet  your  expectations.      In  my 
youthful  days,  before  I  had  to  earn  my  bread,  I  was  a 
good  deal  in  society.     Manners  and  customs  are  much 
changed  since  then,  and  I  imagine  that  your  house  will 
be  one  to  which  many  people  will  be  attracted,  for  I 
infer  that  you  are  well  endowed  with  this  world's  goods, 
and  I  am  sure  that  a  daughter  of  your  father,  so  left, 
will  command  any  position  that  she  chooses  to  take. 
I  hope,  however,  that  I  have  not  entirely  forgotten  how 
to  behave  in  any  company  into  which  I  may  chance  to 
be  thrown.     It  is  not  that.     I  could  manage  to  appear 
well  enough  not  to  make  you  ashamed  of  me.     But 
such  a  connection  as  you  propose  ought  not  to  be  more 
lasting  than  may  be  mutually  agreeable  and  beneficial. 
I  am  not  a  very  fickle  person,  but  I  dread  the  idea  of 
being  a  burden  to  any  one  ;  and  indeed  I  have  enough 
to  be  independent  when  I  wish  to  be.     You  are  too 
young  to  tie  yourself  down  to  one  of  your  own  sex. 
With  the  understanding,  therefore,  that  this  is  not  to 
be  '  for  better,  for  worse,'  '  until  death  us  do  part,'  I 
accept  your  invitation,  and  will  present  myself  at  your 
house  whenever  you  are  ready  to  receive  me.     I  must 
make  one  little  stipulation, — that  you  allow  me  to  bring 
my  geraniums  and  my  bird. 

"  Since  you  have  so  liberally  proposed  that  I  shall 
name  my  own  terms, — business  is  business, — and  as  I 
have  a  nephew  in  Amherst  College  whom  I  am  helping 
to  get  an  education,  I  will  say  that  five  hundred  dollars 
will  more  than  satisfy  his  wants  and  my  expectations. 

"  I  have  tried  to  recall  you,  but  you  are  aware  that 
a  great  many  girls,  of  different  ages,  passed  through 
my  hands  in  the  long  period  of  my  life  as  a  teacher,  I 
do  seem  to  remember  a  bewitching  child,  with  beauti- 
ful ringlets  and  a  fair  complexion,  who  could  not  be 
made  to  do  her  composition  as  neatly  as  I  wished.     If 


WILL  SHE   MARRY  AGAIN?  141 

I  remember  rightly,  she  was  brought  to  the  school  and 
taken  home  by  a  colored  woman,  but  I  have  forgotten 
the  name  of  the  servant.  Are  you  that  mischievous 
little  Isabel?  If  you  are,  you  can  count  upon  the 
love  of 

"Barbara  Simmons." 

This  was  a  most  happy  arrangement.  Miss  Simmons 
was  a  gentlewoman  by  birth  and  education.  She  was 
the  only  child  of  a  highly  respectable  judge  of  one  of 
our  courts,  who  served  for  many  years  on  a  small  salary. 
The  system  of  retiring  judges  on  an  allowance  had  not 
been  adopted  in  his  time,  and,  as  his  health  failed,  he  was 
obliged  to  resign  and  live  on  the  httle  that  he  had  saved. 
On  his  death  he  left  nothing  whatever  but  a  spotless 
name,  and  his  daughter  had  to  support  her  mother  and 
herself.  Miss  Simmons  was  now  a  very  well-preserved 
woman  for  her  years,  of  good  temper  and  pleasant 
manners,  without  a  particle  of  jealousy,  suspicion,  or 
sensitiveness  in  her  nature,  and  able  to  accommodate 
herself  to  any  kind  of  life. 

She  arrived,  bag  and  baggage,  bird-cage  and  gera- 
niums, in  about  a  week  after  Mrs.  Gascoigne  was  settled 
in  her  new  house. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  as  Isabel  met  her  in  the 
hall,  "  I  see  it  all  now, — father,  mother,  and  child.  It  all 
comes  back  to  me.     You  must  let  me  give  you  a  kiss." 

''  Come  into  the  reception-room,  Miss  Simmons,  and 
rest  yourself  for  a  few  minutes,  while  they  are  taking 
your  trunks  up-stairs." 

They  sat  down  on  a  sofa,  and  talked  about  the  school 
and  Isabel's  childhood. 

"  And  so  you  are  a  widow,  although  you  have  left  off 
weeds.  I  was  right  when  I  said  you  must  not  tie  your- 
self down  to  one  of  our  sex.  I  should  think  it  would 
nOt  be  long  before  you  will  have  reason  to  inform  me 
that  some  other  arrangement  will  require  you  to  dis- 
pense with  my  company.  I  shall  expect  to  see  the 
suitors  '  come  as  o'er  a  brook,  to  see  fair  Portia.'  I  can 
promise  to  stay  only  until  your  manifest  destiny  comes 
to  its  natural  end." 


142  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

"  No,  no,  Miss  Simmons,  we  will  not  look  forward  to 
anything  of  that  kind.  There  is  no  Portia  in  my  house, 
and  there  are  no  caskets  to  be  opened  because  '  I  am 
locked  in  one  of  them.'  I  am  \Qvy  happy  as  I  am.  I  have 
my  child  to  care  for,  and  can  bring  him  up  as  I  choose. 
Now  let  me  take  you  up  to  your  room,  where  you  will 
find  Dinah  ready  to  unpack  your  belongings.  Dinah  is 
the  name  of  the  colored  woman  who  used  to  bring  me 
from  school.  We  dine  at  six  o'clock,  and  you  have  an 
hour  to  get  rested  before  you  change  your  dress.  There 
will  be  nO  one  else  at  table  but  my  boy.  I  shall  have 
him  with  us  always,  unless  there  is  company.  Dinah 
will  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  immediately." 

Isabel  had  prepared  for  the  old  lady  a  little  surprise. 
In  the  rear  of  her  new  house  there  was  a  small  room  on 
the  ground  floor,  with  a  sunny  exposure,  which  the  archi- 
tect had  not  designed  for  any  particular  use.  Isabel 
gave  orders,  before  she  removed  from  the  hotel,  to  have 
this  room  made  into  a  conservatory ;  and  when  Miss 
Simmons  arrived  it  was  well  stocked  with  plants,  and 
there  was  a  space  reserved  for  her  geraniums.  The 
canary-bird's  cage  was  suspended  by  a  cord  run  over  a 
small  pulley.  Miss  Simmons  was  installed  as  sole  mis- 
tress of  this  little  green-house,  to  her  great  delight. 
Dinah  had  it  strictly  in  charge  to  look  after  her  com- 
forts, and  one  of  the  neatest  chambers  in  the  spacious 
house  was  appropriated  to  her  use.  There  was  no  ques- 
tion that  the  arrangement  would  prove  to  be  what  she 
considered  as  the  proper  one,  to  last  as  long  as  might 
be  mutually  agreeable  and  beneficial. 

It  lasted,  in  fact,  for  eight  years.  Isabel  could  go 
away  whenever  she  liked,  and  could  always  be  sure  of 
a  welcome,  when  she  returned,  from  this  cheerful  old 
friend,  who  never  seemed  to  be  willing  to  leave  her 
plants  and  her  bird. 

Whether  her  departure  was  in  consequence  of  the 
fulfilment  of  any  of  her  predictions  about  Isabel's  plans, 
is  not  to  be  told  now. 

I  suppose,  however,  that  my  readers,  of  the  fair  sex 
especially,  will  wish  to  know,  apart  from  Miss  Sim- 
mons's  prognostication S;  what  likelihood  there  was  that 


WILL  SHE  MARRY  AGAIN?  143 

this  young,  beautiful,  and  wealthy  widow  would  remain 
unmarried.  One  knows  so  little  of  what  people  will 
expect, — there  is  such  a  variety  of  feelings  about  second 
marriages  in  books,  while  in  real  life  they  are  almost 
matters  of  course, — that  one  can  hardly  tell  what  will 
please  or  displease.  I  am,  however,  to  tell  the  story  of 
Isabel's  life  truly,  and  not  as  the  reader  would  like  to 
have  it  told.  It  is  probable  that,  when  this  part  of  her 
life  is  reached,  there  will  be  a  dozen  different  ways  of 
continuing  it  to  the  end,  each  of  which  will  be  discussed 
at  ladies'  reading-clubs  in  town  and  country,  and  each 
will  be  claimed  to  be  the  proper  finale.  It  is  only 
necessary  for  me  to  go  right  on  with  these  memoirs. 
■  It  would  be  quite  superfluous  for  me  to  say  that  there 
were  plenty  of  bachelors  and  widowers,  every  one  of 
whom  would  have  been  ready  enough  to  ask  the  rich 
and  charming  Mrs.  Gascoigne  to  marry  him,  if  he  had 
received  encouragement  sufficient  to  warrant  a  pro- 
posal. To  be  sure,  nearly  all  her  admirers  who  fre- 
quented her  father's  house  in  the  days  of  her  young 
ladyhood  were  now  married,  or  gone  away  from  Boston. 
The  Frenchman  and  the  Spaniard,  who  were  such  ^etes 
noires  to  Henry  Brewster,  had  each  departed  to  his 
native  land  or  to  parts  unknown.  The  young  South- 
erner had  given  himself  up  to  bad  ways,  and  been 
forgotten.  The  special  friend  of  Isabel's  brothers-in- 
law  was  married  and  had  a  family.  With  the  exception 
of  the  gentleman  whom  I  have  described  as  a  person  of 
mathematical  tastes  and  accomplishments,  all  of  her 
former  adorers  had  dropped  out  of  her  life.  This 
gentleman  was  now  fallen  a  little  into  the  sere  and 
yellow  leaf,  and  he  no  longer  had  hopes  of  more  than 
a  place  in  her  friendly  regards.  When  she  had  a  din- 
ner-party, he  was  not  infrequently  one  of  her  guests ; 
and  she  endured  good-naturedly  his  prosaic  allusions 
to  old  times  in  Pearl  Street.  As  was  to  be  expected, 
however,  a  new  set  of  aspirants  for  her  esj^ecial  favor 
succeeded  to  the  old  ones,  and  constituted  a  numerous 
circle  from  which  she  might  have  easily  selected  some 
man  on  whom  to  bestow  her  hand  and  fortune.  I  can 
mention  but  a  few  of  the  most  prominent  of  them. 


144  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

For  a  year  before  James  Gascoigne  entered  the  Latin 
School  he  had  a  private  tutor,  who  was  well  qualified 
to  coach  him.  He  was  quite  a  presentable  man,  of 
some  eight-and-thirty  or  forty,  and  very  ambitious  of 
social  success.  Whatever  other  people  might  think  of 
his  presumption,  he  himself  thought  it  quite  possible 
that  his  tutorship  of  the  son  could  be  made  an  office 
for  life.  There  is  not  the  least  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  widow  was  aware  of  his  audacity.  At  the  end  of 
the  year  he  received  a  handsome  addition  to  his  stipu- 
lated salary,  and  a  flattering  recommendation,  in  which 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  expressed  her  thanks  for  his  services. 
He  subsided  into  another  employment  of  the  same  kind, 
and  eventually  married  the  eldest  sister  of  his  new 
pupil,  a  plain  young  lady  of  an  uncertain  age. 

Lest  it  may  be  supposed  that  there  were  not  others 
of  more  consequence  than  the  private  tutor,  I  must 
not  omit  two  somewhat  distinguished  clergymen,  one 
with  high-  and  the  other  with  low-church  proclivities. 
They  were  frequent  visitors  at  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  house, 
and  their  ecclesiastical  jealousy  was  not  a  little  tinged 
with  that  other  kind  which  is  felt  in  a  greater  number 
of  human  breasts,  although  they  treated  each  other  in 
her  presence  with  respectful  but  distant  politeness. 
The  Eev.  Mr.  Flowerdale,  a  decided  ritualist,  had  can- 
dles on  the  altar  of  his  church  ;  he  intoned  the  service 
most  beautifully,  and  he  preached  most  learnedly  on 
the  historical  claim  of  the  Anglican  body  to  be  con- 
sidered as  the  true  Church  of  the  whole  English-speak- 
ing race,  scoring  on  the  one  hand  the  "  Eomanists," 
and  on  the  other  the  "  sects,"  with  equal  vigor.  If  he 
had  been  a  successful  suitor  of  the  fair  widow,  early 
ritualism  would  have  gained  the  benefit  of  one  well- 
lined  purse,  and  perhaps  the  Eev.  Augustus  Flowerdale 
would  have  organized  the  first  surpliced  choir  in  Bos- 
ton.    I  believe  that  he  often  said  to  himself, — 

"  I  do  in  birth  deserve  her,  and  in  fortunes, 
In  graces,  and  in  qualities  of  breeding  ; 
But  more  than  these,  in  love  I  do  deserve  her." 

In  manifestation  of  some  of  his  various  deservings,  he 


WILL  SHE  MARRY  AGAIN?  145 

Bent  her  his  two  famous  polemical  sermons,  "published 
by  request,"  and  printed  on  fine  tinted  paper.  They 
were  accompanied  hy  a  note,  in  which  he  asked  her 
acceptance  and  perusal  of  these  discourses,  in  the  hope 
that  she  would  sympathize  in  his  eiforts  to  disseminate 
the  truth,  as  he  viewed  it,  although  he  was  aware  that 
hitherto  she  had  not  looked  at  these  things  as  he  did. 
"Our  Church,"  he  added,  "comprehends  in  her  great 
fold  all  who  agree  in  essentials,  and  minor  differences 
should  not  keep  congenial  spirits  apart:'  It  was  no 
betrayal  of  confidence  for  Mrs.  Gascoigne  to  show  to 
Mrs.  Boylston  a  note  that  came  with  a  couple  of 
printed  sermons.  She  was  not  bound  to  read  between 
the  lines  of  the  note  and  to  discover  a  tender,  human, 
and  personal  sentiment  in  the  wish  of  a  proselytizing 
clergyman  for  Christian  unity.  Isabel  was  not  prone 
to  that  kind  of  interpretation.  She  had  heard  of  and 
had  generally  followed  the  rule,  that  it  is  best  to  ac- 
knowledge  an  author's  presentation  copy  of  a  book 
before  reading  it.  She  therefore  wrote  to  the  Eev. 
Augustus  immediatelj-,  thanking  him  very  simply  for 
his  sermons,  and  promising  to  read  them.  She  made 
no  allusion  to  essentials  or  minor  difi'erences,  or  to  the 
desirableness  of  a  nearer  drawing  together  of  those 
who  had  so  little  to  keep  them  apart.  In  due  time  she 
read  both  the  sermons,  and  did  not  like  either  of  them. 
She  thought  she  had  read  a  good  deal  of  it  in  England, 
but  when  she  next  saw  Mr.  Flowerdale  she  was  too 
polite  to  tell  him  that  he  wore  borrowed  plumes. 

He  came  one  day  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Gascoigne  and 
Miss  Simmons,  and  he  was  in  his  blandest  mood.  His 
low-church  brother  clergyman  had  not  been  asked. 
Isabel  avoided  having  them  both  at  her  table  at  the 
same  time,  for  she  did  not  quite  like  their  propensity 
to  be  a  little  controversial.  In  the  course  of  dinner, 
Mr.  Flowerdale,  in  his  most  insinuating  manner,  asked 
Miss  Simmons  if  he  might  flatter  himself  that  two  ser- 
mons of  his,  which  his  c^ongregation  had  printed,  had 
fallen  in  her  way.  Every  one  will  appreciate  the  deli- 
cacy of  this  mode  of  learning  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  opinion 
of  the  sermons. 

G       k  13 


146  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  promptly,  "  Mrs.  Gascoigne 
gave  them  to  me  to  read,  and  I  have  read  them  atten- 
tively, for  I  rather  like  to  know  what  is  going  on  in  the 
religious  world." 

Then  there  was  a  short  pause,  the  gentleman  waiting 
for  one  of  the  ladies  to  say  something  more. 

"  I  am  an  old-fashioned  church-woman,  Mr.  Flower- 
dale,"  Miss  Simmons  said,  "  and  perhaps  my  ideas  about 
the  Eeformation  may  differ  from  yours.  I  believe  Mrs. 
G-ascoigne  thinks  as  I  do  on  these  subjects,  but  you, 
who  are  such  a  scholar,  can  easily  show  two  women  a 
better  way." 

"  We  are  two  to  one,"  replied  the  smiling  Augustus ; 
"  nevertheless,  without  going  very  far  into  an  argu- 
ment which  you  will  not  care  to  listen  to,  I  will  say 
that  my  views  of  the  Reformation  have  been  adopted 
after  a  great  deal  of  study.  The  apostolic  succes- 
sion  " 

"Excuse  me,  if  I  interrupt  you,"  Mrs.  Gascoigne 
said ;  "  we  make  no  question — at  least,  I  never  have — 
about  the  ordination  and  consecration  of  different 
orders  of  the  priesthood  in  our  Church.  It  is,  I 
suppose,  about  practices  and  observances  in  public 
worship  that  Miss  Simmons  and  I  may  feel  some  hesi- 
tation. Most  Protestants  are  inclined  to  think  that 
it  is  well  to  avoid  assimilation  to  the  Roman  Catholic 
services." 

"What -would  you  say,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,"  asked  the 
reverend  and  learned  gentleman,  "  if  we  have  a  better 
title  to  the  services  which  we  use  than  the  Romanists 
can  show  ?  You  are  aware  that  the  British  Church 
had  an  independent  existence  long  before  Augustine 
came  and  endeavored  to  subject  it  to  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  Bishop  of  Rome.  The  British  Church  had  been 
free  from  Apostolic  times.  Augustine's  mission  was  in 
the  seventh  century,  and  although  he  gained  many 
converts  to  Christianity  from  among  the  Saxon  idol- 
aters, he  did  not  succeed  in  making  the  ancient  Church 
in  Britain  submit  to  the  Roman  patriarch.  This  did 
not  happen  until  a  much  later  period.  You  are  also 
aware  that  the  English  liturgy  is  substantially  the  same 


WILL  SHE  MARRY  AGAIN?  147 

with  that  of  the  early  Christian  Church,  and  that  the 
Catholic  Church  of  the  English-speaking  world  has  pre- 
served in  its  essential  integrity  the  Catholic  worship 
and  all  the  other  marks  of  the  primitive  Church  which 
show  the  continuity  of  the  Anglican  body,  and  which 
prove  conclusively  that  it  has  derived  nothing  whatever 
from  Eome." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  learned  statement, 
which  he  considered  was  in  itself  all  the  argument  that 
could  be  required,  Mr.  Flowerdale  confidently  awaited 
the  assent  which  two  intelligent  ladies  must  yield  to 
the  inference  which  he  intended  they  should  draw. 

"  This  may  all  be  as  you  say,"  said  Isabel ;  "  I  do  not 
presume  to  question  it.  Still,  we  all  know  that  at  the 
Eeformation,  not  only  in  England,  but  on  the  Continent, 
there  were  practices  and  symbols  and  doctrines  which 
the  Protestants  discarded.  We  know  that  at  the  pres- 
ent day  there  is,  in  fact,  a  difference  between  the  two 
great  branches  of  the  Christian  Church,  whether  we  or 
the  Eomanists  have  the  best  right  to  the  designation 
of  Catholic.  All  I  have  to  say  is,  that  I  do  not  wish 
to  see  this  difference  obliterated,  because  I  am  a  Prot- 
estant and  not  a  member  of  the  Romish  Communion." 

"  But  you  will  allow,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  that  we  ought 
to  prevent  the  sects,  as  much  as  we  can,  from  drawing 
away  our  own  people,  and  how  can  we  better  do  this 
than  by  maintaining  our  Catholicity,  and  by  asserting 
our  historic  claims  ?  A  great  while  ago  something  hap- 
pened in  this  city  which  I  shall  never  cease  to  lament. 
That  fine  old  church.  King's  Chapel,  was  seized  by  the 
Congregationalists  before  the  apostasy  of  Unitarianism 
occurred.  It  was  a  great  shame." 
^  "  I  suppose,"  said  Isabel,  "  that  the  pew-owners  of 
King's  Chapel  assumed  that  they  could  do  what  they 
saw  fit  with  their  property,  so  far  as  it  did  not  consist 
in  invested  funds  bequeathed  to  special  uses;  and  I 
have  always  understood  that  there  was  an  amicable 
arrangement  between  Old  Trinity  and  the  King's 
Chapel  people  about  the  Price  fund,  a  great  many  years 
ago.  My  father,  although  a  young  man,  was  a  member 
of  the  Committee  of  Trinity  Parish  at  the  time,  and  I 


148  JOHN  crarAxes. 

know  that  be  considered  the  settlement  a  fair  and  just 
one." 

'*Ab,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  we  had  no  bishop  then,  and 
no  clergy  of  sufficient  energy  to  preyent  this  wrong. 
There  has.  been  a  rector  of  Trinity  who  could  boast 
that  he  had  driven  the  last  Democrat  out  of  his  church 
by  his  political  sermons ;  but  he  did  not  care  where  the 
man  went,  or  whether  King's  Chapel  received  him." 

At  this  moment.  Mrs.  Gal^coigne  rose,  and  they  went 
up  to  the  drawing-room,  Mr.  Flowerdale  politely  giving 
his  arm  to  the  elder  lady  and  James  escorting  his 
mother.  In  the  drawing-room  there  was  a  very  hand- 
some grand  piano. 

"  This  is  one  of  Chickering's  instruments,  I  presume," 
Mr.  Flowerdale  remarked,  casually. 

"Yes,"  said  Isabel,  '-it  is  of  his'make.  It  is  my  old 
instrument  repaired.  It  was  tuned  only  yesterday. 
Mr.  Chickering's  people  have  been  very  slow  in  sending 
it  home." 

"Will  you  not  give  us  some  music,  Mrs.  Gascoigne? 
I  never  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you,  but  I  have 
been  told  that  you  sing  charmingly." 

'•  I  should  not  like  to  sing  now.  as  I  have  not  tried 
my  voice  for  some  time.  But  I  will  play  anything  you 
may  like  to  hear.  There  is  a  variety  of  music  in  the 
stand.     What  shall  it  be?" 

"  Play  Beethoven's  '  Moonlight  Sonata,'  "  said  Miss 
Simmons;  *•  I  have  not  heard  it  in  years." 

Mr.  Flowerdale  would  be  delighted  to  hear  the 
Sonata.  He  adjusted  the  music-sfool  with  polite  gal- 
lantry, and  opened  the  instrument  so  that  it  might  give 
forth  its  full  power.  Isabel  executed  the  piece,  not  as  a 
professional  person  would  have  done,  but  as  a  lady  who 
could  play  with  far  more  than  common  effect.  Mr. 
Flowerdale  had  some  musical  taste,  and  Beethoven's 
music  was  then  much  cultivated. 

Miss  Simmons  softly  tapped  her  left  hand  with  her 
fan,  in  token  of  her  applause,  when  the  last  note  was 
struck. 

'•Thank  you  very  much."  Mr.  Flowerdale  said,  with 
a  profound  bow  ;  "  your  touch  is  exquisite.    I  have  just 


WILL  SHE  MARRY  AGAIX?  149 

heard,  from  a  friend  in  New  York,  that  their  Trinity 
Church  is  hkel}'  before  long  to  have  a  surpUced  choir, 
properly  trained." 

'•  You  mean  a  boy  choir,  I  presume,  or  a  choir  of 
boys  and  men.  I  have  heard  them  in  England,. and  I 
must  say  that  I  prefer  a  quartette  choir  of  men's  and 
vromen's  voices."  Isabel  said,  as  she  rose  from  the  piano 
and  walked  to  a  side  table  where  there  was  a  small 
silver  coffee-urn  giving  forth  a  pencil  of  steam. 

^Ir.  Flowerdale  was  a  little  crestfallen.  It  did  not 
seem  that  he  was  making  much  progress.  He  made 
his  bow  quite  soon,  after  a  cup  of  coffee,  pleading  some 
parish  work  that  required  to  be  attended  to  that  even- 
ing. When  he  had  gone,  Xiss  Simmons  said,  with  just 
a  little  smile  in  her  blue  eyes,  "  Do  you  not  think,  dear, 
that  this  gentleman's  parents  made  a  mistake  when 
they  had  him  baptized  by  the  name  of  Augustus?" 

'•  Why?     Augustus  is  a  very  good  name." 

"Yes,  but  Augustine  would  have  been  much  more 
appropriate." 

"  He  is  a  scholarly  man,"  Isabel  said,  gravely,  "  and 
I  do  not  doubt  his  sincerity.  He  is  reputed  to  be 
very  active  in  all  sorts  of  good  work ;  but  if  he  is  a 
modern  Augustine,  I  am  afraid  that  his  success  in 
bringing  over  two  such  women  as  you  and  me  will 
not  be  greater  than  his  prototype  met  with  in  ancient 
Britain.  From  the  ver}'  little  of  ecclesiastical  history 
that  I  know,  I  believe  that  those  British  prelates  told 
the  Eoman  missionary  pretty  distinctly  that  they  did 
not  propose  to  give  up  any  of  the  practices  or  doc- 
trines of  their  ancestors.  I  have  a  good  deal  of  the 
same  feeling." 

'•  But  it  seems  to  be  supposed  nowadays,"  said  Miss 
Simmons,'  "  that  our  Church  anticipates  Eome  in  its 
liturgy,  and  that  we  have  the  first  right  to  everything 
that  the  ritualists  wish  to  revive." 

'•  Yery  likely."  replied  Isabel ;  "  but  I  do  not  care  to 
go  back  of  the  Eeformation,  and  I  do  not  attach  much 
importance  to  the  question  that  is  now  made.  I  think 
I  understand  what  the  Eeformation  was.  But  what  is 
that  piece  of  work  you  are  doing?" 

13* 


150  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

"  It  is  only  a  little  piece  of  embroidery  for  the  fair 
that  is  to  be  held  for  the  blind  asylum." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  Isabel ;  "  Dr.  Howe  was  here 
this  morning,  and  I  asked  him  to  put  down  my  name 
for  a  hundred  dollars,  because  I  have  been  so  busy  with 
my  house  that  I  could  not  take  a  table  at  the  fair.  If 
you  think  I  did  not  give  as  much  as  I  ought  I  will 
increase  the  subscription.  Dr.  Howe  is  a  wonderfully 
energetic  man,  and  his  wife  is  one  of  the  most  intel- 
lectual women  I  have  ever  known." 

Some  time  afterwards,  Miss  Simmons  told  me,  very 
confidentially,  that  she  did  not  think  the  Rev.  Augustus 
would  be  the  man  to  captivate  our  fair  friend. 

Of  the  other  and  low-church  clergyman,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Gushing,  it  is  not  necessary  to  say  much.  He  was 
of  that  branch  of  the  Church  of  which  Isabel  and  all 
her  family  had  always  been  adherents ;  and,  as  far  as 
sympathy  on  religious  matters  might  go,  his  chances 
for  marrying  her  w^ere  better  than  Mr.  Flowerdale's. 
But  none  of  us  imagined  that  she  would  become  a 
clergyman's  wife,  or  that  she  had  either  the  taste  or 
qualifications  for  such  a  position.  She  was  very  chari- 
table, liked  to  do  good,  and  did  a  great  deal.  As  the 
wife  of  a  pastor  of  a  parish,  high  or  low  church,  she 
would  not  have  been  a  successful  or  a  happy  woman. 
None  of  her  intimate  friends,  therefore,  felt  much  con- 
cerned about  either  of  her  clerical  admirers.  There 
was,  however,  another  gentleman,  who  I  might  have 
supposed  would  have  found  favor  with  her.  He  ap- 
peared in  her  circle  after  Mr.  Flowerdale  and  the  other 
clergyman  had  ceased  to  entertain  hopes,  so  that  the 
field  vvas  quite  free.  Mr.  Arnold  was  of  suitable  age, 
excellent  character,  good  family,  agreeable  manners, 
and  independent  fortune.  Like  Isabel's  father,  he  had 
made  his  own  way  in  the  world  ;  and  he  was  a  man 
of  refinement  and  cultivation,  with  more  literary  taste 
and  knowledge  than  Mr.  Bradshaw  ever  possessed.  I 
thought  he  would  make  a  good  step-father  for  James 
and  a  good  husband  for  James's  mother.  I  used  to 
wish  that  she  would  marry  him,  but  I  imparted  the 
wish  to  my  wife  alone. 


WILL   SHE  MARRY  AGAIN?  151 

All  along,  the  female  relatives  and  some  of  the  other 
friends  of  these  several  candidates  for  an  alliance  with 
a  lady  who  was  worthy  of  the  best  of  them,  whoever  he 
might  be,  looked  to  see  her  make  a  selection ;  but  none 
of  them  could  venture  to  do  much  to  promote  the 
prospects  of  the  one  who  they  hoped  would  win  the 
prize.  All  who  had  known  her  in  the  earher  part  of 
her  life,  or  had  heard  about  her,  while  they  felt  her  un- 
diminished attractions,  saw  that  in  some  respects  she 
was  much  changed.  She  had  lost  nothing  of  her  former 
frankness,  and  her  pleasure  in  being  liked  and  appreci- 
ated was  as  great  as  ever.  Yet  in  all  her  demeanor 
towards  any  man  who  now  endeavored  to  gain  some- 
thing more  than  her  friendship  there  was  a  decorum, 
a  delicate  dignity,  which  intimated  very  plainly,  when 
any  intimation  was  needful,  that  she  had  nothing  more 
to  give.  Ko  woman  in  the  same  situation  ever  had 
such  perfect  manners  towards  the  other  sex.  This 
every  one  saw.  ]^o  one  smiled  significantly  when 
some  gentleman's  name  was  connected  with  hers.  Peo- 
ple talked  of  her  in  respectful  whispers  when  the 
probability  of  her  marrying  again  was  alluded  to,  a3 
if  the  subject  were  too  delicate  for  common  gossip.  If 
I  sometimes  wished  that  she  would  marry,  it  was 
because  I  beUeved  that  she  could  make  a  new  happiness 
for  herself  and  for  the  man  whom  she  might  accept. 
Whether  she  had  resolved  not  to  change  her  condition 
under  any  circumstances,  or  whether  it  was  because  she 
had  not  met  any  man  who  could  induce  her  to  break 
that  resolution,  if  she  had  made  it,  she  was  still  unmar- 
ried as  late  as  the  year  1859.  I  shall  not  anticipate 
here  what  occurred  at  that  time. 

In  all  these  years  perhaps  she  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  giving  poor  Lionel  a  successor.  I  never 
considered  her  a  romantic  woman ;  yet  it  is  in  regard 
to  her  feelings  about  her  husband  that  I  have  had  so 
much  hesitation.  The  grief  of  a  young  woman  for  a 
husband  lost  as  Lionel  Gascoigne  was  may  be  very 
sacred,  and  it  may  last  a  long  time  without  any  great 
amount  of  sentiment  or  romance.  I  was  well  aware 
that  Isabel  married  the  young  Englishman  less  for  love 


152  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

and  more  for  the  sake  of  being  taken  from  a  posi- 
tion in  which  she  was  unhappy.  Before  his  shocking 
death  she  had  given  him  her  whole  heart,  and  it  was 
one  in  which  there  was  a  wealth  of  affection  that  she 
did  not  herself  know  of  until  it  was  developed  in  her 
married  life.  His  death  was  so  piteous,  so  crushing, 
that  if,  throuo-h  all  this  leno;th  of  time,  she  had  afeelinij; 
about  him  like  that  which  Amelia  cherished  for  George 
Osborne  during  so  many  years  before  she  could  think 
of  marrying  Major  Dobbin,  I  could  not  blame  her. 
There  was  nothing  for  Isabel  to  learn  about  Lionel,  as 
Amelia  had  to  learn  about  George, — that  he  was  not 
worthy  of  the  devoted  love  which  she  gave  him  while 
he  lived  and  which  she  continued  to  give  him  long  after 
he  was  dead. 

Mr.  Thackeray  evidently  feared  that  his  lady  readers 
would  feel  some  contempt  for  Amelia,  and  he  did  his 
best  to  prevent  it.  We  are  all  aware  what  a  weak  and 
insignificant  little  creature  most  of  them  consider  her. 
If  they  did  but  know  it,  Amelia  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  characters  in  English  fiction, — a  character 
drawn  with  consummate  art  and  with  an  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  natures  of  w^omen.  Whether  she 
was  designed  to  be  the  foil  to  Becky  Sharp,  or  Becky 
was  drawn  to  be  her  foil,  Amelia  is  the  most  finished 
production  of  the  great  artist's  pencil.  There  is  far 
more  of  nature  and  far  less  of  the  extravagance  of 
fiction  in  Amelia  than  there  is  in  Becky.  Perhaps  it  is 
because  Becky  is  such  a  smart  caricature  that  readers 
of  her  own  sex  take  more  interest  in  her  than  in  Ame- 
lia. I  would  not  for  a  moment  intimate  that  they  are 
attracted  by  the  glimpses  of  wickedness  which  they 
get  in  the  life  of  the  talented  adventuress,  more  than 
they  are  by  the  sweetness  and  purity  of  Amelia's  char- 
acter and  the  pathos  of  her  history.  Dear,  amiable, 
lovely  soul !  No  man  lays  down  "  Yanity  Fair"  without 
thanking  the  author  for  recompensing  her  at  last  for 
all  that  she  had  suffered.  Providence  often  reserves 
such  rewards  for  the  good  and  faithful,  even  in  this 
world  of  sorrow ;  and  the  writer  of  fiction  who  works 
out   the   same  result,  in  a  natural  course  of  things, 


WILL   SHE  MARRY  AGAIN?  153 

displays  the  highest  skill  of  his  art.  There  is  another 
way  of  ending  the  lives  of  the  innocent  and  virtuous. 
AYhen  a  novelist  or  a  poet  terminates  in  disappointed 
love,  or  in  insanity  or  death,  the  life  of  some  lovely 
woman,  he  is  just  as  true  to  nature, — to  use  the  hack- 
neyed phrase, — just  as  much  a  master  of  his  art,  as 
when  he  makes  happiness  and  joy  the  end  of  early 
suffering.  Yet,  when  we  can  have  the  happiness  and 
the  joy,  let  us  be  thankful.  Ophelia  and  Clarissa  Har- 
lowe  and  Clara  ]\Iowbray  and  the  Jewess  E-ebecca  are 
each  of  them  not  less  according  to  the  truth  of  this 
mysterious  world  than  Portia,  or  Pamela,  or  Jeannie 
Deans,  or  Di  Yernon.  We  could  not  spare  any  of 
them  from  the  gallery  of  Art,  where  the  immortal  por- 
traits are  hung.  But  the  realm  of  fiction  is  a  very 
difi'erent  world  from  the  realm  of  fact.  I  am  not 
drawing  a  fictitious  character;  I  am  describing  a  life 
—  the  life  of  a  friend  —  of  a  woman  in  society,  and 
of  a  period  not  very  long  past.  I  am  bound  by  no 
rules  of  Art;  and  I  am,  ladies,  no  more  amenable  to 
your  criticism  than  Dame  is'ature  herself.  If  you  can- 
not appreciate  my  lovely  friend  as  I  did,  permit  me 
to  say  that  it  will  be  your  misfortune  rather  than  my 
fault. 

I  could  know  nothing  of  what  was  in  Isabel's  inmost 
thoughts  when  the  idea  of  a  second  marriage  presented 
itself  to  her,  if  it  ever  did.  My  wife  repeated  to  me  a 
conversation  in  which  she  learned  something  of  Mrs. 
Gascoigne's  feelings  about  her  husband,  at  a  time  when 
it  seemed  to  us  that  Mr.  Arnold  was  probably  on  the 
eve  of  a  declaration.  It  was  quite  casual,  and  there 
had  been  no  allusion  to  Mr.  Arnold.  Mrs.  Boylston 
was  sittino;  with  her  one  mornino;  in  her  chamber.  On 
the  dressing-table  stood  a  little  upright  ebony  case,  with 
elaborately  carved  folding-doors,  which  were  closed  and 
locked.  Mrs.  Boylston  had  never  before  observed  it, 
but  Isabel,  seeing  that  her  attention  was  now  attracted 
to  it,  said, — 

"  You  never  saw  my  husband,  although  Mr.  Boylston 
was  at  our  marriage  and  was  most  kind  to  both  of  us. 
You  would  not  know  how  good  a  likeness  I  have  of 


154  JOHN   CH A  RAXES. 

him,  if  I  were  to  show  it  to  you ;  but  perhaps  you  would 
like  to  see  it." 

She  went  to  the  dressing-table,  and  detaching  a  di- 
minutive key  from  her  watch-chain,  she  unlocked  the 
doors  of  the  case.  It  was  hned  with  black  velvet,  and 
in  it  was  hung  a  miniature  set  in  an  oval  gold  frame. 
She  took  it  out  and  placed  it  in  my  wife's  hands. 
"  This  was  painted,"  she  said,  "  about  two  months  be- 
fore he  died.  Tell  me  if  you  think  James  resembles 
him." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  the  resemblance  is  very  strong  indeed.  I 
have  often  heard  Mr.  Boylston  say  that  James  re- 
minds him  at  times  of  his  father  so  strongly,  that  it 
makes  him  think  it  is  the  father  he  is  talking  with. 
It  is  very  fortunate  that  this  fine  miniature  was 
painted  :  it  must  be  an  inestimable  treasure  to  you.  I 
am  so  glad  to  have  seen  it." 

"  It  was  a  thoughtful  gift  from  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Bank- 
side.  She  had  it  painted,  and  gave  it  to  me  on  his 
birthday.  The  lettering  on  the  back  is  '  Lionel  Gas- 
coigne,  ^t.  XXXI.'  I  wore  it  constantly  until  he  died, 
and  until  I  came  home ;  but  one  cannot  wear  such  a 
thing  here,  one  is  so  likely  to  be  asked  about  it.  The 
case  in  which  I  keep  it  I  had  made  after  his  death,  be- 
fore I  left  England.  My  poor  husband,  Mrs.  Boylston, 
was  very  different  from  most  Englishmen  of  his  class. 
I  may  be  prejudiced  against  them,  and  of  course  I  have 
a  prejudice  in  his  favor,  which  I  do  not  wish  to  get 
over." 

"  Do  you  think  that  Englishmen  are  less  tender  as 
husbands  than  Americans  of  the  same  cultivation  and 
equally  good  moral  character  ?     I  have  heard  so." 

"  As  a  rule,  I  think  they  are,  in  the  higher  classes  of 
society.  I  saw  very  little  of  those  who  are  called  the 
middle  classes.  Among  the  aristocracy  and  the  gen- 
try, the  men  marry  from  motives  in  which  love  is  not 
always  predominant,  and  the  girls  too  often  marry  for 
rank  or  wealth.  Then,  you  know,  the  manners  and 
customs  are  so  different  from  ours.  An  English  hus- 
band is  not  expected  to  do  for  his  wife  what  American 
husbands  do, — those  little  attentions  which  make  so 


WILL  SHE  MARRY  AGAIN?  155 

much  of  our  happiness.  Perhaps  English  women  are 
more  independent  than  we  are, — possibly  they  are  more 
self-reliant ;  but  I  think  they  lose  something  that  we 
are  thankful  to  have,  and  that  sweetens  our  married 
lives.  My  father  warned  me  that  I  should  find  this 
difference,  before  I  married  Mr.  Gascoigne,  but  he  at- 
tached more  importance  to  it  than  I  did.  I  did  not 
think  it  a  very  great  risk.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Gascoigne 
had  been  for  some  time  in  this  country  and  had  seen 
something  of  our  social  life  and  domestic  ways.  Be- 
fore we  were  engaged,  I  saw  that  he  understood  us  very 
well,  for  he  thought  there  might  be  something  good 
that  was  not  English.  This  gave  me  great  confidence 
in  him,  and  it  all  turned  out  right.  He  proved  to  be 
an  exception  to  the  generality  of  English  husbands  ;  it 
was,  at  any  rate,  because  I  believed  him  to  be  an  ex- 
ception that  I  loved  him  so  well.  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
say  that  I  learned  to  love  him,  for  marriage,  as  you 
know,  is  a  great  school.  But  I  am  talking  of  things 
that  happened  a  long  time  ago.  I  do  not  much  concern 
myself  now  with  these  comparisons.  I  know  what  you 
and  Mr.  Boj'lston  have  always  been  to  each  other." 

''  Yes,  we  are  a  comfortable  pair,  of  the  old  sort. 
But  did  you  not  at  first  have  to  make  Mr.  Gascoigne 
feel  that  you  expected  him  to  be  a  husband  after  our 
pattern  ?*' 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  Years  ago,  soon  after 
I  returned  home,  I  told  Mr.  Boylston  all  about  the  first 
and  only  visit  that  I  made  to  Gascoigne  Manor  House. 
It  was  soon  after  we  arrived  in  Eno;land.  I  might  have 
been  amused  by  what  I  saw  and  heard  there, — I  tried 
to  be, — but  before  the  end  of  a  week  I  became  ill,  and 
my  illness  was  increased  by  the  wretchedness  I  felt  at 
finding  everything  so  different  from  what  I  expected, 
I  had  Dinah,  to  be  sure,  and  she,  you  know,  is  a  treasure. 
But  my  husband  watched  over  me  and  cared  for  me 
with  infinite  tenderness  and  devotion.  I  shall  never 
forget  what  a  relief  it  was  to  me  when  he  carried  me 
so  tenderly  away  from  that  gloomy  old  house  and 
stupid  family,  in  which  there  was  not  a  soul  I  could 
like  excepting  his  youngest  sister.      I  was  thankful 


156  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

enough  to  get  back  to  our  small  but  cheerful  apartment 
in  London,  although  London  is  often  a  dismal  place. 
There  I  began  to  find  the  greatest  delight  in  sitting 
with  my  husband  in  the  evenings  and  helping  him  in 
his  work,  which  I  could  do  very  often.  I  cared  little 
for  any  society  but  his.  When  I  began  to  go  into  the 
world,  I  felt  that  he  had  a  career  to  make,  and  that  I 
could  help  him  to  make  it ;  and  it  was  such  a  joy  to 
know  that  he  considered  me  capable  of  a  little  service. 
The  blow  that  crushed  all  this  came  with  terrible  sud- 
denness, and  if  I  had  not  been  a  mother,  with  a  child  a 
year  old,  I  do  not  see  how  I  could  have  been  here  now 
talking  to  you.  If  James  ever  marries,  I  do  hope  that 
he  will  marry  for  love  and  for  nothing  else." 

"  I  hope  so  too,  with  all  my  heart,"  Mrs.  Boylston 
said  ;  "  but  one  cannot  tell  what  will  happen  to  a  young 
man  situated  in  life  as  your  James  is." 

"  His  situation  in  life,  dear  friend,"  said  Isabel,  "  need 
not  stand  in  his  way.  My  fortune,  as  you  know,  is 
entirely  at  my  own  disposal.  James  need  not  hesitate 
to  marry  a  penniless  girl.  I  want  nothing  but  charac- 
ter, and  I  hope  that  if  there  is  beauty,  there  will  be 
character  along  with  it.  Now  let  me  make  a  predic- 
tion of  something  that  is  in  my  own  control.  When 
James  marries,  his  wife  will  find  a  home  in  which  the 
proverbial  mother-in-law  will  not  be  therulingpower." 

With  a  little  laugh,  in  which  the  two  ladies  joined, 
the  conversation  here  ended.  My  wife  could  only  infer 
from  it  that  Mrs.  Gascoigne  had  not  then  the  remotest 
idea  of  marrj^ing  Mr.  Arnold,  and  that  her  son  was,  as 
ever,  the  supreme  object  of  all  her  thoughts  and  inter- 
ests. Still,  Mr.  Arnold  was  not  the  only  man  in  the 
world.  Isabel's  present  indifference  about  her  own 
future,  in  the  matter  of  a  second  marriage,  might  change, 
if  one  should  present  itself  which  united  all  that  was 
desirable  for  herself  and  her  son.  She  was  not  much 
over  forty -five  at  this  time,  and  she  was  rich  enough  to 
make  ample  provision  for  James  and  herself  I  will 
just  note  the  period  of  this  conversation.  It  occurred 
a  year  or  so  before  she  made  a  visit  to  Saratoga,  which, 
as  it  proved,  was  to  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the 


WILL  SHE  MARRY  AGAIN?  157 

remainder  of  her  life.  But  I  must  now  go  back  for  a  con- 
siderable space,  and  give  some  account  of  James  from 
his  boyhood  down  to  that  eventful  summer  of  1859. 

One  thing  was,  from  the  first,  apparent  to  us  all: 
that,  although  a  sensible  woman,  Isabel  would  err  on 
the  side  of  indulgence  from  the  nature  of  her  affections. 
The  lad,  as  he  grew  in  years  and  in  fine  physical  develop- 
ment, did  not  seem  likely  to  set  the  river  on  fire  in  any 
way.  He  was  gentle  and  amiable,  but  all  the  teachers 
in  the  world  could  not  make  him  learn  easily,  or  make 
him  overcome  difficulties  by  hard  work.  I  used  to 
think  it  doubtful  if  he  would  have  amounted  to  much 
if  he  had  been  a  poor  boy  and  been  put  to  earning  his 
bread  ;  for  his  mind,  while  it  had  all  the  natural  facul- 
ties of  an  intelligent  lad,  seemed  to  have  them  in  only 
about  half  their  proper  vigor.  Jimmy  Gascoigne,  as 
his  intimates  called  him,  was  just  the  youth  likely  to 
become  of  no  account  in  the  world,  by  the  effect  of  un- 
limited indulgence.  He  got  into  Harvard  by  the  aid 
of  some  looseness  and  willingness  on  the  part  of  the 
examiners ;  and  expensively  furnished  rooms,  unre- 
stricted credit  at  a  fashionable  tailor's,  horses,  theatres, 
balls  and  parties  in  Boston,  and  similar  advantages, 
did  what  was  needful  to  supplement  the  handiwork  of 
nature.  I  am  happy,  however,  to  say  that  he  did  not 
contract  any  of  the  gross  vices,  and  that  his  j'outh  was 
never  stained  by  anything  low,  mean,  or  dishonorable. 
He  was  always  a  gentleman,  and  a  favorite  among 
young  ladies  who  liked  good  manners,  good  looks,  and 
a  propensity  to  innocent  amusements,  and  who  thought 
that  a  young  fellow  who  could  spend  any  amount  of 
money  in  bouquets  a  very  desirable  friend.  His  male 
associates  generally  found  him  ready  to  do  rather  more 
than  his  share  in  the  expenses  of  what  was  going  on 
in  their  set,  and  this  is  a  great  cause  of  popularity. 
Older  people,  too,  asked  why  the  only  son  of  the  rich 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  should  study  a  profession,  or  engage  in 
commerce,  or  do  anything  under  the  sun  but  take  life 
easily,  so  long  as  he  lived  like  a  gentleman  and  did 
nothing  to  disgrace  himself  or  to  pain  his  beautiful 
mother. 

14 


158  JOHN  charAxes. 

So  it  turned  out  that  Jimmy  Gascoigne,  after  he  left 
college  at  the  age  of  twenty,  became  an  idle  young 
man;  one  of  those  ornaments  of  society  who  constitute 
the  jeunesse  doree  of  our  American  life,  for  whose  exist- 
ence no  particular  reason  can  be  given.  Whether  any- 
thing will  ever  occur  to  force  him  to  the  front,  or  to  de- 
velop in  him  something  that  cannot  now  be  discovered  as 
a  prospect  or  a  promise,  is  in  the  future.  At  present,  he 
must  be  left  with  his  mother,  leading  the  kind  of  life 
appropriate  to  such  a  youth,  while  she  enjoys  the  hap- 
piness of  his  affection,  his  amiability,  and  his  freedom 
from  any  immoral  conduct  or  vulgar  tastes. 

A  rich  mother  of  an  only  son  is,  however,  pretty  sure 
to  have  her  anxieties  about  his  matrimonial  tendencies. 
Isabel  kept  her  eye  upon  all  the  young  women  among 
whom  her  son  was  a  favorite  ;  and  she  would  have  re- 
joiced if  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  any  one  of  several 
whom  she  knew  very  well.  But  she  could  not  discover 
that  he  had  any  preference,  and  if  she  had  any  herself 
she  did  not  let  him  perceive  it.  He  became  Ibur-and- 
twenty  before  anything  occurred  to  attract  her  special 
attention  to  any  girl  whom  they  had  known,  or  to  any 
new  acquaintance.  Parents  of  the  fair  daughters  of 
Eoston  at  that  time  welcomed  James  Gascoigne  to  their 
houses,  but  neither  parents  nor  daughters  laid  any  plans 
concerning  him.  He  was  universally  considered  a  good 
fellow ;  and  if  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  any  girl  in  the 
American  Athens,  there  could  have  been  no  reasonable 
objection  to  his  marrying  her,  provided  she  liked  him 
well  enough.  Young  men  of  his  stamp  are  not  to  be 
debarred  from  matrimony  because  they  do  not  belong 
to  the  producing  classes,  any  more  than  the  lilies  of 
the  field  should  be  prevented  from  arraying  themselves 
in  a  glory  greater  than  Solomon's  because  they  toil 
not,  neither  do  they  spin. 

But  my  readers  are  not  to  set  down  James  Gascoigne 
as  a  "  dude."  That  character  is  a  production  of  a  later 
period.  To  fulfil  it  requires  something  of  a  fool ;  and 
James  was  by  no  means  a  fool.  He  had  common  sense, 
and  entirely  good  principles.  He  lacked  an  object  in 
life ;  and  while  he  could  not  make  one  for  himself  of 


BRIEF  BUT  PERFECT.  159 

any  importance,  he  was  not  obliged  to  find  one  in  ways 
and  things  that  would  make  him  ridiculous.  His 
mother  once  tried  to  induce  him  to  enter  politics ;  and 
she  consulted  me  about  a  course  of  reading  that  might 
fit  him  to  take  some  part  in  public  affairs.  I  could  not, 
however,  give  the  plan  much  encouragement.  I  knew 
that  the  public  are  generally  willing  to  meet  rich  young 
men  more  than  half-way,  but  they  require  some  evi- 
dence of  industry  and  capacity.  I  frankly  told  his 
mother  that  money  alone  would  do  little  for  him,  and 
that  some  fellow  who  had  not  a  penny  in  the  world, 
but  who  could  show  ability  to  work,  would  distance 
him  in  the  race.  She  gave  up  the  idea,  but  James  did 
read  some  of  the  books  that  I  put  before  him,  and  per- 
haps he  profited  by  them  afterwards.  It  is  well  to  sow 
such  seed,  even  if  they  are  sown  among  tares.  Some- 
times the  good  seed  will  fructify,  and  sometimes  the 
tares  will  spring  up  and  choke  them.  In  this  case  the 
result  was  a  good  way  off.  It  would  depend  upon  cir- 
cumstances that  could  not  be  foreseen  whether  James 
Gascoigne  was  to  become  an  utter  failure,  or  to  make 
his  mark. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

BRIEF   BUT   PERFECT. 


After  Mr.  Charaxes  left  Boston,  he  travelled  exten- 
sively in  different  parts  of  the  Union,  until,  finding 
himself,  in  the  summer  of  1837,  in  the  old  city  of  De- 
troit, he  made  a  longer  stay  there  than  he  had  in  most 
of  the  places  that  he  visited.  Walking  one  day  in  the 
suburbs,  he  was  attracted  by  the  appearance  of  a  large 
house  standing  by  itself  in  an  enclosure  of  four  or  five 
acres.  The  building  was  of  stone,  and  of  a  peculiar 
architecture,  older  than  that  of  any  of  the  neighboring 
houses.  It  was  unoccupied,  and  on  inquiry  he  found 
that  it  was  for  sale.  When  he  had  examined  the  interior 
he  determined  to  buy  it ;  and  wishing  for  the  services 


160  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

of  a  lawyer  in  the  transaction,  and  knowing  no  one  to 
whom  to  apply,  he  strolled  along  one  of  the  business 
streets,  until  he  saw  the  name  ''  Henry  Brewster."  He 
was  far  too  keen  a  man  of  affairs  to  jDut  himself  into 
the  hands  of  a  total  stranger  without  any  inquiry  ;  but 
he  thought  he  would  venture  to  take  an  observation. 
Ascending  one  flight  of  stairs,  he  found  the  name  re- 
peated on  the  door  of  an  office.  Entering,  as  he  under- 
stood was  the  custom,  without  knocking,  he  walked 
into  an  inner  room,  well-lined  with  books,  where  a 
young  man,  apparently  about  thirty,  was  seated  at  a 
desk.  Rising  and  greeting  the  stranger,  the  occupant 
of  the  office  placed  a  chair  for  him. 

"  I  am  in  search  of  a  lawyer,"  said  Charaxes,  "  to 
assist  me  in  the  purchase  of  a  house,  but,  as  I  am  a 
stranger  here,  I  hardly  know  to  whom  to  apply." 

"  I  happen  to  be  a  lawyer,  sir,"  replied  the  young 
man,  "  but  I  have  been  in  practice  here  for  only  about 
a  year.     Perhaps  you  could  do  better." 

There  was  something  in  the  manner  of  the  young 
lawyer,  however,  that  led  Mr.  Charaxes  to  think  that 
he  was  a  gentleman. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  the  Rev.  Dr.  Pitman,  rec 
tor  of  St.  Joseph's  Church?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  have  the  honor  to  be  slightly  known  to  him." 

"  Well,  then,  as  I  brought  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
him  when  I  came  here,  suppose  that  each  of  us  should 
consult  him  as  a  common  acquaintance  ?" 

The  result  was  that  Mr.  Charaxes  learned  from  Dr. 
Pitman  that  Brewster  was  a  young  lawyer  of  New 
England  birth  and  education  ;  that  he  had  already  ac- 
quired a  good  practice  in  Detroit,  and  bore  a  high 
character.  Brewster  learned  that  this  foreign  gentle- 
man was  a  person  of  large  wealth  and  great  respecta- 
bility, but  why  he  proposed  to  settle  in  Detroit  was 
not  known.  Mr.  Charaxes  placed  his  business  in 
Henry's  hands  ;  the  purchase  of  the  house  was  effected 
in  due  time  ;  and  from  that  period  they  became  very 
intimate.  Soon  there  began  to  arrive  from  jSTew  York, 
coming  from  foreign  parts,  large  quantities  of  furniture, 
books,  and  objets  d'art,  and   by  the  time   the  house 


BRIEF  BUT  PERFECT.  161 

was  ready  for  occupation  a  number  of  servants — some 
foreigners  and  some  natives— made  up  the  domestic 
establishment.  In  fitting  up  his  new  abode,  Charaxes 
spent  money  most  liberally,  but  judiciously,  and  when 
ail  the  arrangements  were  completed,  it  was  a  very 
well-appointed  gentleman's  residence. 

Brewster  was   then    living  in   a  small  and  modest 
house,  with  his  sister.      She  was  of  great  service  to 
Mr.  Charaxes  in  the  preparation  of  his  new  abode,  and 
he  soon  appreciated  the  fine  qualities  of  her  mind  and 
character.     Scarcely  a  week  passed  that  she  and  her 
brother  were  not  his  guests  at  his  dinner  of  a  Saturday 
evening,  sometimes  with  the  addition  of  a  few  other 
persons  whom  he  knew.     Among  these  was  the  rec- 
tor—Dr.   Pitman  — and   his   niece,  Mary  Lyndall,  a 
young  lady  then  about  twenty-five.     She  had  been  left 
an  orphan  at  an  early  age,  and  had  been  educated  by 
her  uncle.     Her  home  was  still  at  his  house.     The  ac- 
quaintance thus  begun  between  Brewster  and  Miss  Lyn- 
dall ripened  into  some  intimacy,  but  what  would  be  the 
result  was  for  a  long  time  uncertain.     Brewster's  un- 
fortunate love-affair  had  produced  in  him  a  not  unusual 
effect.     It  had  not  destroyed  his  capacity  for  love,  or 
made  him  a  woman-hater,  but  it  had  made  him  appear 
cold.     Mary  Lyndall  was  a  woman  as  unlike  Isabel 
Bradshaw  as  any  woman  ever  was  unlike  another.     I 
never  saw  her,  but  I  heard  a  great  deal  about  her  in  later 
years,  and  copies  of  some  of  her  letters  were  intrusted 
to  me.     I  have  been  told  that  she  was  not  without 
beauty  of  person,  but  it  must  have  been  a  beauty  very 
different  from  Isabel  Bradshaw's.     In  intellect,  there 
was  not  so  great  a  difference  as  there  was  in  their  early 
educations.     Isabel,  although  her  youthful  education 
was  rather  superficial,   became  a  very  well-informed 
woman  in  her  middle  life,  and  her  experience  in  the 
world  was  much  wider  than  Miss  Lyndall's  ever  be- 
came.    But  Miss  Lyndall's  education  was  by  far  the 
most  thorough  and  comprehensive ;  from  her  earliest 
years  she  was  more  thoughtful,  and  her  feelings  were 
ever  under  the  control  of  a  conscientious  rectitude. 
She  had  never  met  a  man  whom  she  thought  more 
I  14* 


162  JOHN  CRARAxES. 

worthy  of  esteem  and  confidence  than  Henry  Brews- 
ter, but  whether  she  could  love  and  marry  him  would 
depend  very  much  upon  himself.  It  was  not  until 
after  an  intimacy  of  two  years  that  Brewster  asked 
her  to  become  his  wife ;  and  as  he  did  this  by  letter, 
while  she  was  absent  from  her  home  for  a  few  weeks,  it 
came  upon  her  rather  unexpectedly.  Her  answer  will 
give  the  reader  a  better  idea  of  her  than  any  character 
that  I  could  draw. 

"  Tour  letter  is  full  of  all  that  can  touch  the  deepest 
sympathies  of  a  woman's  heart,  and  it  makes  me 
wretched  that  in  answer  to  it  I  must  utter  words 
which  will  pain  and  disappoint  you.  Until  I  received 
your  letter,  I  had  supposed  that  the  regard  each  felt 
for  the  other  was  similar  in  nature  and  extent,  and 
that  we  might  continue  to  meet  upon  that  easy  familiar 
ground  which  is  most  agreeable  to  me  in  my  social 
relations.  I  have  been  deceived. — no,  deceived  is  not  the 
word. — I  have  been  mistaken  in  regard  to  your  manner 
towards  me.  It  has  seemed  to  me  at  times  even  cold, 
and  I  fear  that  you  have  also  mistaken  mine.  I  am 
by  no  means  insensible  to  the  value  of  a  strong,  pure, 
and  sincere  attachment,  and  I  am  troubled  that  you 
cannot  receive  from  me  the  return  which  such  an  at- 
tachment deserves.  I  would  willingly  make  you  happy 
if  I  could,  but  the  attempt  would  be  in  vain  if  I  could 
not  give  you  that  warm  and  devoted  affection  which 
you  would  require  and  which  I  have  always  considered 
essential  to  the  happiness  of  married  life. 

"  Time  has  taught  me  rightly  to  understand  and 
appreciate  the  excellence  of  your  character.  You 
have  my  sincerest  esteem  and  gratitude, — my  nearest 
friends  are  your  friends  and  would  rejoice  in  my  union 
with  you.  Yet  in  the  face  of  this  rises  the  plain  and 
obstinate  fact  which  will  oppose  itself  to  any  argument 
of  reason.  I  do  not  love  you.  I  do  not  feel  for  you 
that  deep  attachment  which  I  think  I  ought  to  feel  for 
one  to  whom  I  am  to  be  united  by  the  holiest  of  ties ; 
an  attachment  which  would  give  me  strength  for  any 
duty,  and  support  under  any  trial  that  in  life  might 


BRIEF  BUT  PERFECT.  163 

fall  to  my  lot.  You  have  a  right  to  such  a  love,  but  I 
cannot  say  that  you  have  roused  it  within  me.  Mys- 
terious and  inexplicable  in  its  nature,  it  seems  almost 
to  defy  our  control.  For  this  reason  I  think  I  could 
not  make  you  happy,  and  that  I  could  not  give  you  that 
true'  and  perfect  sympathy  which  you  ask.  Heaven 
knows  how  unwillingly  I  pain  you,  but  I  must  be  true 
to  you  and  to  myself,  for  our  future  happiness  depends 
upon  it. 

"Forgive  me  if  I  have  hurt  you,  and  believe  that  I 
have  felt  keenly  every  wound  that  I  have  inflicted.  Let 
me  still  continue  your  sincere  friend, 

"M.  L." 

This  was  evidently  not  final.  It  was  the  letter  of  a 
conscientious  woman,  who  doubts  but  yet  may  be  con- 
vinced. Brewster  flew  to  her  presence.  Their  interview 
was  long,  but  still  her  scruples  were  not  removed.  After 
his  return  home,  he  received  another  letter  from  her, 
"which  I  will  not  withhold. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  note.  It  was  some  conso- 
lation to  me  after  our  very  painful  and  embarrassing 
interview ;  but  it  was  not  entirely  satisfactory,  for  I 
see  that  you  do  not  yet  understand  me.  I  have  been 
in  a  sea  of  troubles  to-day,  because  the  course  of  con- 
duct which  I  ought  to  pursue  at  this  critical  moment 
of  our  lives  seems  dim  and  undefined  to  me.  One 
thing  alone  is  clear, — that  I  ought  not  to  enter  into 
any  engagement  with  you  in  the  present  state  of  my 
feelings.  Neither  can  I  reconcile  myself  to  the  idea 
of  encouraging  the  least  hope  which  I  may  hereafter 
be  compelled  to  crush.  I  cannot  trifle  with  you.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  question  between  us  should  be 
settled  at  once ;  but  if  you  think  otherwise,  if  you  can 
say  that  should  there  be  nothing  gained  there  could  be 
nothing  lost  by  deferring  my  decision  for  a  short  time, 
I  am  willing  to  agree  to  this  alternative.  At  the  ex- 
piration of  a  few  weeks  I  must  know  my  own  mind 
upon  this  subject ;  there  can  then  be  no  doubt  as  to 
the  degree  of  affection  I  am  capable  of  feeling  for  you. 


164  JOHN  charAxes. 

In  the  interim  we  could  meet,  and  you  could  write  to 
me  when  you  pleased.  I  feel  that  I  cannot  commend 
such  half-way  measures.  I  am  not  satisfied  as  to  their 
right  or  their  expediency.  Every  way  I  turn,  how- 
ever, I  must  give  or  receive  pain ;  there  is  only  a 
choice  of  evils  for  us,  so  that  after  some  reflection  this 
course  seems  all  that  is  left  to  me,  unless  you  will  con- 
sent not  to  tempt  the  future,  but  to  rest  content  with 
my  present  judgment  in  this  matter.  With  the  strong- 
est desire  to  act  kindly  and  justly  by  you,  believe  me, 

"  Your  friend, 

"M.  L." 

There  was  something  so  confiding  and  tender  in  this 
that  the  result  could  not  be  very  far  off.  When  a  half 
consent  has  been  gained  from  such  a  woman,  he  must 
be  a  poor  lover  who  cannot  win  the  other  half  It 
was  not  at  the  end  of  weeks,  or  of  many  days,  that 
Miss  Lyndall  found  where  her  heart  ought  to  lead 
her.  It  was  all  settled  the  very  next  time  they  met, 
and  soon  she  was  able  to  write  to  him  such  words  as 
these  : 

"  We  shall  probably  modify  each  other's  feelings  and 
views,  and,  at  any  rate,  whenever  we  cannot  unite  we 
will  agree  to  disagree.  I  rely  upon  you  to  cut  away 
whatever  is  morbid  or  weak  in  me.  I  look  to  you  to 
give  strength  to  my  character,  rest  to  my  heart,  and 
impulse  to  my  intellectual  powers ;  in  return  it  shall  be 
my  earnest  endeavor  to  satisfy  you  in  all  things.  I 
will  strive  to  be  a  kind,  affectionate,  devoted  wife." 

Must  I  write  that  this  perfect  union  had  but  three 
years'  duration  in  this  world  ?  Why  is  it  so  ordered 
that  in  some  cases — in  which  not  merely  happiness, 
but  the  full  end  of  our  mortal  existence,  for  the  welfare 
of  others,  seems  to  require  that  two  lives  shall  reach 
together  the  threescore  and  ten — one  shall  be  taken 
early  and  the  other  left  ?  What,  in  all  the  twenty, 
thirty,  or  forty  years,  through  which  the  survivor  re- 
mains and  toils  and  suffers  in  this  world,  becomes  of  that 


BRIEF  BUT  PERFECT.  165 

other  one  who  has  gone  before  ?  Shall  we  overtake 
those  whom  we  have  lost,  so  that  we  shall  be  able  to 
be  as  they  are,  and  shall  not  feel  that  they  are  beyond 
us  and  above  us  ?  Will  those  who  have  gone  before 
us  always  be  in  advance  of  us,  measured  by  the  lapse 
of  time  since  they  went  away?  Are  there  any  years 
in  that  state  of  existence  into  which  departed  souls 
have  gone?  Do  they  take  note  of  time  in  eternity? 
Or  are  the  dead  held  in  undistinguishable  and  uncon- 
scious sleep,  until  the  last  trump  shall  sound,  and  we 
shall  all  go  together  to  the  judgment-seat,  as  each  one 
was  when  this  life  was  ended  ?  For  necessary  reasons, 
doubtless,  knowledge  of  these  things  has  been  with- 
held from  us.  We  could  not  bear  to  know  them  while 
we  remain  here.  Hamlet's  madness  was  not  feigned. 
Human  reason  could  not  endure  the  "  eternal  blazon" 
of  communication  with  those  who  are  in  another  world. 
If  there  were  such  communications,  the  strongest  mind 
would  be  overthrown.  This  is  what  Shakespeare  meant 
to  teach,  and  it  is  what  It^ature  teaches.  "  Spiritual- 
ism" is  a  delusion  and  a  sham. 

Again  Elizabeth  Brewster  had  to  become  her  broth- 
er's counsellor,  consoler,  unfailing  friend,  in  time  of 
need.  A  little  girl  of  two  years,  the  Margaret  Brews- 
ter of  these  memoirs,  was  growing  into  womanhood 
under  the  care  of  her  aunt,  during  the  seventeen  or 
eighteen  years  through  which  I  have  given  some  ac- 
count of  the  lives  of  Isabel  Gascoigne  and  her  son.  As 
I  am  rather  careful  about  my  chronology,  I  mention 
that  we  have  now  arrived  at  the  year  1859.  During 
the  preceding  twenty  years,  Brewster  rose  very  high 
in  his  profession,  and  prospered  in  fortune.  His  daugh- 
ter's education  was  conducted  entirely  at  home,  under 
her  aunt's  supervision.  Her  character  will  unfold  itself 
as  I  go  on.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  in  the  life  which 
she  led  there  was  no  chance  for  frivohty.  It  was  rather 
too  serious  a  life.  She  had  no  intimate  friends  of  her 
own  age.  The  young  men  whom  she  knew  were  not 
her  equals  ;  the  young  women  thought  her  proud. 
But  it  was  not  pride.  It  was  superiority,  without 
affectation,  without  airs,  and  without  pretension ;  with 


166  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

sincere  and  direct  ways,  and  with  no  small  practical 
power  in  whatever  is  appropriate  to  a  refined  and  edu- 
cated woman.  Her  intellectual  qualities  led  her  to 
understand  and  to  be  interested  in  public  affairs  ;  and 
her  father's  propensities  and  conversation  developed  in 
her  an  unusual  taste  and  capacity  for  such  subjects. 
Although  he  never  was  in  official  public  life,  his  influ- 
ence was  very  great  when  he  saw  fit  to  exert  himself 
on  any  public  question.  He  did  far  more  in  shaping 
public  opinion  on  critical  occasions  than  the  noisiest 
and  most  active  politicians  of  any  of  the  parties  of  the 
time.  His  marriage  took  place  in  1839,  but  he  did  not 
make  it  known  to  me.  It  is  probable  that  at  that  part 
of  his  life  he  effaced  from  his  recollection,  as  much  as 
possible,  all  his  associations  with  Boston,  and  that  he 
included  me  among  those  whom  he  then  wished  to  for- 
get. I  did  not  feel  hurt  by  his  silence,  for  I  supposed  I 
understood  it,  and  I  thought  it  quite  natural.  After 
the  time  when  Isabel  married  and  left  Boston,  her 
father  never  again  spoke  to  me  about  Brewster.  Mr. 
Dana,  too,  ceased  to  speak  of  him.  The  story,  in  the 
lapse  of  more  than  twenty  years,  faded  out  of  the  recol- 
lections of  almost  every  one  but  my  wife  and  myself. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

AN   UNEXPECTED   MEETING. 

Astrology  must  have  been  a  fascinating  science.  I 
never  understood  it ;  and  therefore  I  cannot  determine 
by  what  "  The  stars  voluminous,  or  single  characters, 
in  their  conjunction  met,  give  me  to  spell"  the  combina- 
tions of  the  heavenly  bodies  whereby  it  was  fated  that 
Henry  Brewster  and  Isabel  Gascoigne,  nee  Bradshaw, 
should  meet  in  the  summer  of  1859  at  a  fashionable 
resort.  I  can  only  tell  of  things  occurring  on  this 
mundane  sphere  in  a  very  natural  course  of  things. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  month  of  June  of  that  year, 
Brewster,  his  sister,  and  his  daughter  had  been  dining 


AN   UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  167 

one  evening,  according  to  their  frequent  custom,  with 
their  old  friend  Charaxes.  The  weather  was  exceed-* 
ingly  warm,  and  all  four  of  them — the  two  gentlemen 
with  their  cigars — were  seated  on  the  veranda.  The 
moon  poured  a  flood  of  light  upon  the  waters  of  Lake 
St.  Clair,  and  many  a  white  sail  was  visible  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Brewster,  "  of  taking 
the  ladies  to  Saratoga.  Why  should  you  not  join  us, 
sir  ?" 

"  I  ?"  asked  the  placid  old  man.  "  I  am  too  much 
wedded  to  my  easy-chair,  and  it  is  so  long  since  I  have 
been  in  the  world  that  I  should  be  quite  out  of  place." 

"Think  better  of  it,  dear  sir,"  said  Miss  Brewster; 
and  "  Do  go,  Mr.  Charaxes,"  said.  Margaret.  *'  We  can- 
not be  without  our  mentor.  What  if  we  should  commit 
some  solecism  in  manners,  or  make  some  mistake  in 
threading  the  mazes  of  social  life  at  such  a  gathering 
of  the  fashionable  world  ?" 

"  I  will  trust  you  anywhere,  my  dear,"  replied  the 
old  gentleman  ;  "  and  if  you  needed  a  mentor,  your  aunt 
would  be  a  far  better  one  than  I." 

"  But  I,  sir,"  said  Miss  Brewster,  "  have  seen  very 
little  of  the  gay  world,  and  my  brother  has  been  too 
much  a  man  of  business  to  be  quite  at  home  in  such 
places.  We  shall  all  need  you,  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
be  amused." 

"  Yery  likely  I  may  be,  for  I  generally  manage  to 
get  amusement  out  of  most  things  that  I  see,  if  they 
are  not  painful.  But  if  you  are  really  going  into  such 
a  caravansera  of  American  fashion,  I  do  not  know  that 
I  can  stay  at  home,  for  I  should  sadly  miss  our  quiet 
Saturday  dinners,  and  I  suppose  you  will  be  absent 
nearly  all  summer.  I  have  seen  many  motley  gather- 
ings,— many  menageries  of  different  animals, — and  per- 
haps I  may  as  well  see  what  this  continent  can  bring 
together.  I  will  go,  if  you  will  promise  to  let  me  come 
home  when  I  am  tired  of  it." 

Both  ladies  said  that  he  should  come  away  whenever 
he  liked.  With  this  understanding,  the  arrangements 
were  quickly  made ;  and  at  the  end  of  about  a  week 


168  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

after  this  conversation  tlie  four  travellers  found  them- 
selves at  the  Grand  Hotel,  then  the  most  famous  one  at 
Saratoga  Springs. 

Shortly  before  this,  Mrs.  G-ascoigne,  who  always  left 
her  house  in  Boston  for  the  hottest  months  of  summer, 
proposed  to  her  son  to  take  their  usual  tour.  Before 
they  left,  Miss  Simmons  went  to  reside  with  her  nephew 
in  Mansfield,  Ohio.  Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  her  son  arrived 
at  the  same  hotel  in  Saratoga  before  the  party  from 
Detroit,  and  found  many  acquaintances. 

It  was  not  without  reason  that  Charaxes  promised 
himself  amusement.  There  is  nothing  more  striking 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  than  a  crowded  American 
watering-place  in  the  height  of  the  season.  A  showy, 
stuccoed  building,  three  stories  in  height,  fronts  on  the 
principal  street,  on  which  it  extends  a  hundred  and 
fifty  feet.  Lofty,  square,  wooden  columns  support 
the  high  roof  of  a  veranda,  more  commonly  called  in 
America  a  "  piazza."  A  broad  flight  of  steps  descend 
to  the  flags  of  the  sidewalk.  At  the  rear  extend  back 
two  wings,  which,  with  the  main  building,  enclose  three 
sides  of  a  spacious  court,  in  the  centre  of  which  a  copi- 
ous fountain  is  playing ;  and  the  well-shaven  lawns  are 
interspersed  with  gay  flowers  and  flowering  shrubs. 
Gravelled  walks,  kept  hard  by  the  roller,  meander 
through  the  court.  The  fourth  side  is  open  to  the 
westerly  breeze.  A  great  music-stand  aflTords  a  place 
for  the  band,  which  plays  during  certain  hours.  Where 
else  should  the  sovereign  people  take  their  ease  but  in 
such  an  inn  as  this? 

The  company  is  from  every  quarter  of  the  Union ; 
a  mixed  and  varied  representation  of  the  conglomerate 
nation  known  as  "  The  American  People."  Here  is  the 
Southern  planter,  whose  cotton  or  sugar  has  netted 
him  this  year  a  clear  profit  of  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
and  he  has  come  North  to  spend  a  good  part  of  the 
money  most  royally,  bringing  his  wife,  two  daughters, 
and  a  son,  and  leaving  the  plantation  to  the  care  of  his 
overseer.  His  ladies  are  among  the  best  customers  at 
the  jewellers'  shops  in  the  great  cities,  and  at  the  dress- 
makers' ;  for  at  Saratoga  ladies  change  their  dresses 


AN    UNEXPECTED   MEETING.  169 

four  or  five  times  a  day.  In  the  dialect  of  these  good 
Southern  folk  you  hear  the  peculiar  speech  and  into- 
nation that  come  from  their  negroes,  and  to  which  no 
attempt  at  written  description  can  do  justice.  But 
their  voices  are  musical,  their  education  has  been  as 
good  as  the  best,  and  the  women  are  bright  and  charm- 
ing. The  planter  himself— a  large  slave-holder— is  a 
sturdy  believer  in  the  right  of  secession,  and  just  now 
this  is  beginning  to  be  a  matter  much  thought  of  in 
reference  to  certain  contingencies  in  the  political  world. 
The  mother  of  the  family  is  a  fine  specimen  of  the 
Southern  matron,  toiling  night  and  day,  when  she  is 
at  home,  in  the  care  of  her  numerous  dependants,  but 
doing  it  all  with  an  ease  and  a  conscientious  fidelity 
to  a  position  to  which  she  was  born  and  to  the  like 
of  which  she  trains  her  daughters.  The  son  has  just 
graduated  at  Yale  or  Harvard,  where  he  was  one  of  a 
set  of  Southern  exclusives,  and  spent  a  good  deal  of 
money.  In  the  event  of  any  sectional  trouble,  he  will 
be  ready  to  march  and  to  fight,  although  he  does  not 
3^et  know  it. 

A  staid  new  England  family— the  head  of  which  is 
a  merchant  on  Central  Wharf,  in  Boston,  or  a  manu- 
facturer—have come  to  "  The  Springs"  for  health  and 
recreation;  the  daughters  having  won  medals  at  the 
Girls'  High  School,  and  being  highly  accomplished 
young  women.  Their  nasal  tones  and  precision  of 
speech  leave  you  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  place  of  their 
origin,  and  if  you  converse  with  them  you  will  find  that 
they  know  a  great  deal  about  books,  and  dress  very 
simply. 

Baltimoreans,  with  their  peculiar  utterance  (I  wish  I 
could  writp  '-Baltimore"  as  they  speak  it),  the  young 
women  with  blooming  complexions,  fresh  and  lively, 
the  older  ones  fading  much  less  rapidly  than  some 
others  of  our  countrywomen  ;  Philadelphians,  of  Quaker 
parentage,  but  dressing  like  "  the  world's  people"  and 
even  dancing ;  New-Yorkers,  some  w^ith  new  and  some 
with  old  riches,  and  all  with  a  sense  of  the  importance 
of  the  Empire  State  immensely  manifested ;  Western 
people,  with  their  racy  metaphors  and  a  slang  that  is 

H  15 


170  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

never  heard  on  this  side  of  the  Alleghanies  unless  they 
bring  it  (their  girls  sometimes  bring  it  and  fling  it 
around  with  something  of  a  graceful  crispness  that  is 
a  little  startling,  but  not  indelicate)  ;  the  Californian 
who  was  an  "  old  forty-niner,"  and  struck  a  gold-mine 
that  made  a  millionaire  out  of  a  common  miner,  and 
one  -who  is  fond  of  heaping  diamonds  on  his  women- 
kind  ;  stock-brokers  and  other  gamblers,  professional 
men,  politicians,  editors,  religious  persons  and  persons 
of  no  religion,  teetotalers,  moderate  drinkers,  drinkers 
of  everything  that  they  can  pay  for,  or  that  others  will 
pay  for;  in  short,  a  miscellaneous,  motley  crowd,  such 
as  Charaxes  anticipated.  The  settled  customs  of  the 
watering-place,  and  a  uniform  round  of  amusements, 
gave  to  this  multitude  of  people  a  certain  uniformity 
of  manners,  while  they  were  there,  although  it  was  easy 
to  see  how  much  of  good  breeding  the  different  indi- 
viduals had  or  had  not  brought  from  home. 

But  how  am  I  to  describe  that  part  of  the  life  at  such 
a  place  which  consisted  in  eating  and  drinking  ?  Old 
Talleyi'and  is  said  to  have  remarked  of  us,  leur  luxe  est 
affreux ;  and  well  he  might.  It  could  not  quite  be  said 
that  there  was  to  be  found  at  the  Grand  Hotel 

"  A  table  richly  spread,  in  regal  mode, 
"With  dishes  piled,  and  meats  of  noblest  sort 
And  savour,  beasts  of  chase,  or  fowl  of  game, 
In  pastry  built,  or  from  the  spit,  or  boiled, 
Gris-amber-steamed  ;  all  fish  from  sea  or  shore, 
Freshet,  or  purling  brook,  of  shell  or  fin. 
And  exquisitest  name,  for  which  was  drained 
Pontus,  and  Lucrine  Bay,  and  Afric  coast. 
Alas !  how  simple,  to  these  cates  compared. 
Was  that  crude  apple  that  diverted  Eve." 

But  the  purveyor  for  this  tahle-cChote  did  pretty  well, 
although  there  was  not  much  to  be  said  for  the  cook- 
ing. The  resources  of  our  own  land  and  water  were 
not  mean,  and  there  were  not  many  luxuries  that  our 
commerce  could  not  bring  from  foreign  climes  and  put 
within  the  reach  of  money.  The  orange  groves  of 
Florida  had  not  then  produced  that  delicious  fruit 
which  surpasses  all  that  the  Mediterranean  sends  us ; 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  171 

the  grapes  of  California  or  Ohio  had  not  then  furnished 
what  they  have  since.  But  on  the  list  of  wines  at  this 
hotel  every  vintage  in  Europe  was,  or  was  said  to  be, 
represented  ;  and  the  prices,  high  as  they  were,  were  no 
obstacle  to  the  consumption.  The  hotels  could  afford 
to  take  guests  who  drank  nothing  but  water ;  for  the 
guests  who  drank  nothing  but  wine  paid  more  than 
threefold  what  was  needful  to  make  up  the  difference. 
Neither  can  I  borrow  more,  and  say, — 

"  And  at  a  stately  sideboard  by  the  wine 
That  fragrant  smell  diffused,  in  order  stood 
Tall  stripling  youths  rich  clad,  of  fairer  hue 
Than  Ganymed  or  Hylas  ; ' ' 

for,  in  plain  truth,  the  "  waiters"  were  all  black,  clad 
in  linen  jackets  that  were  not  always  as  clean  as  they 
might  have  been.  At  their  head  was  a  portly  fellow 
who  was  quite  a  master  of  ceremonies,  and  for  a  good 
round  fee  he  would  give  a  guest  his  choice  of  seats, 
and  see  that  he  was  properly  served,  while  others 
almost  went  without  their  dinners.  There  was  much 
rushing  about,  great  clatter,  and  rather  more  of  a 
scramble  than  was  seemly.  The  popping  of  cham- 
pagne corks  frequently  broke  upon  the  ear. 

*'  And  all  the  while  harmonious  airs  were  heard 
Of  chiming  strings,  or  charming  pipes  ;" 

for  the  sovereign  people,  at  such  places,  must  be  re- 
galed with  music  at  their  meals. 

The  uniformity  of  manners  to  which  I  have  referred 
begins  with  some  of  the  persons  in  such  assemblies  of 
people  by  imitation.  Your  free-born  American,  when 
he  first  comes  into  the  company  of  those  who  are  sup- 
posed to  be  his  betters,  and  who  have  ways  to  which 
he  has  not  been  accustomed,  exhibits  a  consciousness 
that  he  is  as  good  as  anybody,  and  his  manner  asserts 
it  very  decidedly,  especiallj'  if  he  has  money,  which  is 
beyond  doubt  as  good  in  his  pocket  as  in  any  one's.  By 
and  by  he  begins  unconsciously  to  imitate ;  he  catches 
the  tone  and  style  that  surround  him  ;  his  self-assertion 
becomes  a  little  less  prominent,  but  he  does  not  lose  his 


172  JOHN  charAxes. 

independence.  He  learns  what  good  manners  are,  and 
ends,  in  externals  at  least,  in  being  a  gentleman,  whom 
no  one,  not  knowing  his  origin,  would  take  to  have 
been  formerly  a  vulgar,  ill-bred,  ill-conditioned  fellow. 
Mutatis  mutandis^  the  same  is  true  of  our  women.  I 
have  known  factory-girls,  born  in  poverty  and  dirt, 
who  have  become  ladies,  and  if  you  met  them  you  would 
suppose  that  they  were  born  princesses,  or  duchesses 
at  the  very  least.  But  some  education  is  necessary  to 
this  result ;  and  somehow  or  other  this  is  obtained.  It 
is  thus  not  diificult  to  find  the  reason  why  a  democracy 
like  ours  can  develop  a  refined  and  elegant  society. 
That  some  vulgar  people  who  get  money  remain  vulgar 
people  is  true  enough.  It  is  true  enough  sometimes  of 
people  who  inherited  their  money.  But  these  excep- 
tions do  not  overcome  the  general  rule.  Griven  the 
opportunities,  and,  out  of  an  equal  number  of  people, 
more  Americans,  men  and  women,  of  humble  birth,  will 
rise  in  the  social  scale,  and  come  to  be  gentlemen  or 
ladies,,  than  in  any  other  land  with  which  I  am  ac- 
quainted. What  provokes  me  is  to  see  the  airs  which 
people  give  themselves,  who  claim  to  be  better  than 
their  neighbors  because  they  have  money.  The  claim 
of  being  as  good  as  your  neighbor,  either  with  or  with- 
out money,  I  am  always  ready  to  admit,  when  there  is 
something  more  than  money  to  back  it. 

But  this  disquisition  has  run  off  from  my  pen  in  a 
parenthesis.  I  must  return  to  the  Grand  Hotel.  It 
was  a  queer  scene  for  such  sober  people  as  the  Brews- 
ters  and  such  a  philosopher  as  Charaxes  to  come  to. 
But  the  old  man  was  not  wrong  in  supposing  that  he 
would  be  amused.  At  all  events,  he  found  an  acquaint- 
ance that  became  very  interesting  to  him. 

There  was  a  lively  lady  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  from 
Detroit ;  a  certain  Mrs.  Davis.  She  had  preceded  the 
Brewster  party  about  two  weeks,  and  had  become  ac- 
quainted with  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  of  whom  she  knew  only 
that  in  early  life  she  married  an  Englishman,  that  she 
was  a  rich  widow,  and  that  her  residence  was  in  Boston. 
Mr.  Brewster  she  had  long  known  in  Detroit,  but  she 
was  entirely  ignorant  of  his  early  history.     On  the  day 


AN   UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  173 

following  the  arrival  of  the  Brewsters,  Mrs.  Davis  was 
sitting  with  Mrs.  G-ascoigne  at  the  side  of  a  small  parlor 
which  opened  from  the  great  drawing-room  of  the  hotel. 
She  was  much  given  to  our  American  habit  of  intro- 
ducing everybody  to  everybody  else  ;  and  rarely  has 
this  national  custom  led  to  a  more  extraordinary  cowfre- 
temps  than  it  did  on  this  occasion.  Brewster  had  never 
known  anything  about  Isabel's  marriage.  He  might 
have  learned  a  great  deal  about  her  from  me,  but  it 
was  one  of  the  ways  in  which  he  disciplined  himself 
into  fbrgetfulness  of  that  episode  in  his  life,  to  be  with- 
out any  knowledge  concerning  her  from  the  time  of 
their  separation.  On  this  morning,  he  was  passing 
through  the  room  where  Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  Mrs. 
Davis  were  sitting,  on  his  way  to  the  office  of  the  hotel, 
to  mail  some  letters.  Mrs.  Davis  called  to  him,  and  he 
stopped,  directly  in  front  of  the  two  ladies. 

"  Mr.  Brewster,"  said  the  sprightly  little  woman, 
"let  me  present  you  to  my  friend,  Mrs.  Gascoigne. 
Mrs.  Gascoigne,  this  gentleman  is  Mr.  Brewster,  one  of 
my  Detroit  Iriends,  and  a  very  distinguished  man." 

Brewster  had  not  until  that  moment  looked  at  the 
lady  who  sat  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Davis,  but  one  look 
sufficed.  It  was  ? — yes,  it  was, — the  Isabel  of  his  early 
love.  His  surprise  may  be  imagined.  But  he  did  not 
lose  his  self-command ;  he  did  not  speak ;  he  merely 
bowed,  as  any  gentleman  would  bow  to  a  lady  to  whom 
he  was  unexpectedly  presented  as  a  stranger.  Isabel, 
although  shocked  by  the  suddenness  of  this  meeting, 
was  too  much  accustomed  to  control  herself  to  betray 
any  emotion.  She  made  an  inclination  of  her  head, — 
as  formal  a  salute  as  the  one  she  received.  She  did 
not  dare  to  raise  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  man  who 
stood  before  her.  In  an  instant  there  seemed  to  be  a 
tacit  understanding  that  they  met  as  strangers  hereto- 
fore, and  that  they  were  to  recognize  no  previous  ac- 
quaintance. It  was  a  distressing  situation  for  both  of 
them,  but  the  voluble  Mrs.  Davis  saw  nothing  in  the 
manner  of  either  that  was  at  all  out  of  the  common 
course.     She  rattled  on, — 

"  I  see  that  you  have  your  daughter  with  you,  Mr. 
15* 


174  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

Brewster.  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  only  son  is  here  with  her. 
Young  people  at  these  places  ought  to  be  acquainted. 
I  hope,  Mr.  Brewster,  you  will  allow  me  to  present  Mr. 
James  Gascoigne  to  Miss  Margaret." 

While  she  ran  this  off  very  glibly,  Brewster  looked 
at  the  lady  to  whom  he  had  been  thus  suddenly  pre- 
sented, and  who  sat  motionless  in  the  matronly  dignity 
of  a  still  beautiful  woman  of  forty-seven. 

Ah,  my  male  reader,  did  it  ever  happen  to  you,  with- 
out the  slightest  warning,  to  see  in  middle  life,  or  may- 
hap a  little  later,  a  face  that  you  adored  in  your  youth, 
and  that  you  had  not  seen  for  more  than  a  score  of 
years?  How  you  did  explore  those  features,  to  find 
the  girl  who  was  once  enshrined  in  your  heart.  She  is 
there, — she  is  not  there, — you  find  her,  you  do  not  find 
her, — how  shall  you  recall  what  subdued  you  in  the 
morning  of  your  days  ?  It  is  most  distressing, — this 
loss  of  the  young  face,  this  merging  of  the  3'ounger  in 
the  older  woman,  this  fruitless  effort  to  see  again  what 
was  once  so  glorious  and  so  sweet.  When  Tom  Moore 
wrote 

"  Around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my  heart,"  etc., 

what  did  he  mean  ?  Anything  but  a  ridiculous  senti- 
mentality? Isabel  Gascoigne,  however,  was  no  ruin. 
She  was  amazingly  well  preserved,  but  the  girl  of  three- 
and-twenty  could  scarcely  be  found  in  her  now,  even 
by  the  keen  search  of  Henry  Brewster,  which  he  did 
for  one  instant  essay  to  make.  Suddenly,  he  rescued 
himself,  saying  that  he  feared  he  would  be  late  for 
the  mail,  and  with  a  low  bow  he  walked  rapidly  away. 
Isabel  glanced  timidly  at  his  retiring  figure,  and  then, 
conscious  that  she  could  not  endure  the  tumult  of  her 
feelings  if  she  remained  longer  with  Mrs.  Davis,  she 
excused  herself  to  that  lady  for  leaving  her,  and  went 
directly  up  to  her  apartment. 

She  had  fortunately  not  brought  Dinah  to  Saratoga. 
If  she  had,  there  would  have  been  one  person  who 
would  have  known  but  too  well  who  Mr.  Brewster  was. 
The  maid  who  was  with  Mrs.  Gascoigne  had  not  been 
long  in  her  service.     Her  son  was  out.     As  soon  as  she 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  175 

reached  her  parlor  she  sank  upon  a  chair  and  burst 
into  tears.  Her  attendant,  a  good-natured  girl,  hearing 
a  sob,  ran  in  from  the  bedroom,  and,  supposing  that 
her  mistress  had  received  some  bad  news,  asked  if  she 
should  not  call  Mr.  James. 

"  By  no  means,"  Mrs.  Gascoigne  said.  "Leave  me, 
Susan,  please,  for  a  while.  I  have  met  with  something 
unpleasant,  but  I  shall  be  over  it  soon  ;  it  is  not  of  much 
consequence.  Give  me  some  eau-de-cologne.  You  can 
go  out  to  walk  if  you  wish,  and  need  not  come  back 
until  it  is  time  for  me  to  dress  for  dinner." 

The  girl  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  then  considerately 
left  her  lady  alone.  Isabel  rose,  locked  the  door,  and 
then  gave  way  for  a  few  moments  to  an  uncontrolled 
emotion.  It  was  a  needed  relief.  She  then  tried  to 
collect  her  thoughts,  and  to  determine  what  her  de- 
meanor must  be.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Brewster 
had  instantly  resolved  to  ignore  everything  in  the  past, 
and  to  have  such  acquaintance  as  there  must  be  date 
from  the  introduction  of  that  morning.  This,  therefore, 
must  be  her  own  course.  She  could  never  ex2:>lain  to 
her  son  that  part  of  her  life  in  which  she  had  known 
this  gentleman  before.  Her  old  engagement  to  him  was 
now  so  little  spoken  of,  there  was  so  little  danger  that 
any  one  in  all  that  crowd  of  visitors  had  ever  heard 
of  it,  that  she  soon  determined  what  was  best.  Fortu- 
nately for  her,  her  self-possession,  as  soon  as  the  first 
agitation  was  over,  was  equal  to  any  trial  that  she 
might  have  to  encounter.  It  was  quite  apparent  to 
her,  from  the  cold,  imperturbable  bearing  of  Mr.  Brews- 
ter, that  no  lingering  tenderness  would  be  likely  to 
betray  him  into  any  allusion  to  their  younger  days. 
Brief  as  was  the  moment  when  he  stood  before  her, 
and  little  as  she  could  see,  her  rapid  feminine  percep- 
tions told  her  that  a  revival  of  his  old  love,  under  any 
circumstances,  would  be  very  improbable.  And  did  she 
wish  for  it  ?  Had  she  ever  wished  for  it,  when  she 
thought  of  the  chances  of  their  meeting  again  ?  If  she 
ever  had,  the  wish  had  died  away  entirely.  She  did 
not  indulge  for  a  moment  in  the  hope  that  he  would  be 
led  to  touch  upon  their  past. 


176  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

They  say  that  the  substance  of  our  physical  frames 
undergoes  complete  change  and  renovation  once  in 
every  seven  years.  Perhaps  the  substance  of  our  souls, 
if  they  have  substance,  goes  through  a  hke  process. 
Isabel  was  not  now  what  she  was  at  three-and-twenty. 
She  was  a  woman  in  middle  life,  of  much  experience ; 
she  was  a  mother,  and  her  son  was  to  her  all  in  all. 
Whatever  it  was  that  made  her  lose  the  destiny  once 
in  store  for  her,  it  was  now  in  the  far-off  past.  If  it 
needed  any  atonement,  there  could  be  none.  But  as 
she  sat  there  alone,  with  painful  memories  crowding 
upon  her,  she  could  not  help  wishing  to  know  more. 
Mrs.  Davis  had  mentioned  that  Mr.  Brewster  had  a 
daughter  with  him.  Was  she  to  see  this  girl?  Who 
was  her  mother  ?  What  had  been  the  history  of  Henry 
Brewster  in  all  these  years?  How  could  she  learn 
more  without  manifesting  an  interest  that  she  must 
not  show  ?  But  it  was  in  no  hope  for  herself  that  she 
wished  to  know  whether  the  mother  of  this  girl  was 
living.  Possibly  I  disappoint  my  readers  in  precluding 
the  probability  of  a  result  that  they  may  perhaps  ex- 
pect. I  have  more  than  once,  however,  warned  them 
that  I  am  telling  a  true  story,  not  shaping  a  romance 
to  suit  myself  or  any  one  else. 

That  evening  there  was  to  be  dancing  in  the  great 
drawing-room.  A  band  of  musicians,  of  the  highest 
skill  of  the  time,  were  preluding  for  the  dancers.  Quite 
recovered  from  her  recent  agitation,  and  in  full  evening 
dress,  of  remarkable  elegance,  Mrs.  Gascoigne  entered 
the  drawing-room  accompanied  by  her  son.  Mrs.  Davis 
immediately  joined  them,  and  they  took  seats  on  a  sofa 
at  one  side  of  the  room,  about  midway  between  the 
two  ends. 

"  Mr.  James,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  with  her  usual  brisk- 
ness, "  I  want  to  present  you  to  a  young  lady  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room.  I  introduced  her  father  to  your 
mother  this  morning,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  both  be 
glad  to  know  the  whole  Brewster  party." 

Mrs.  Gascoigne  looked  across  the  wide  space,  and  saw 
four  persons,  two  ladies  and  two  gentlemen,  near  one 
of  the  windows.     The  eldest  of  the  gentlemen  was  of 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  177 

a  very  distinguished  appearance,  and  of  quite  an  ad- 
vanced age.  He  was  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  which 
Mr.  Brewster  had  wheeled  up  for  his  accommodation. 
The  two  ladies  occupied  a  sofa,  at  the  end  of  which  his 
chair  was  placed. 

Brewster  stood  behind  him,  calmly  surveying  the 
company.  The  eldest  of  the  two  ladies  was  tall,  with 
silvery  white  hair,  tastefully  arranged.  She  appeared 
to  be  about  fifty-five.  She  had  one  of  the  loveliest 
countenances  ever  possessed  by  a  woman  of  her  years. 
If  she  had  not  been  a  beauty  in  her  youth,  she  now 
had  the  beauty  of  sweetness,  intelligence,  and  wisdom. 
Her  eyes  were  very  striking, — full,  tender,  penetrating 
orbs, — the  finest  I  ever  saw  in  a  woman  of  her  age. 
Her  mouth  had  an  expression  of  as  much  softness  and 
as  much  strength  as  could  be  combined  in  that  feature 
of  a  female  face.  She  seemed  to  be  quietly  amused  by 
the  scene  before  her. 

The  younger  lady  was  not  quite  so  tall  as  the  elder 
one,  but  there  was  a  strong  resemblance  between  them 
in  figure  and  features ;  not  the  resemblance  that  is  to 
be  traced  between  mother  and  daughter,  but  that  which 
is  transmitted  on  the  paternal  side.  At  first  you 
would  not  have  called  Margaret  Brewster  a  beautiful 
girl,  but  you  would  have  soon  felt  that  she  was  charm- 
ing, and  that  her  character  must  be  an  uncommon 
one.  Her  hair  was  a  golden  brown,  abundant  and 
fine ;  it  was  worn  in  ringlets,  as  was  then  the  fashion. 
They  were  brought  down  from  her  temples  by  the  sides 
of  her  face,  but  the  ends  were  turned  and  fastened  to 
the  back  hair.  Her  brow  and  forehead  were  those  of 
an  intellectual  woman.  Her  mouth  and  eyes  were  like 
her  aunt's,  with  the  difference  only  between  3'outh  and 
age.  It  was  a  thoughtful  face,  with  an  air  of  espiegle- 
rie,  too;  she  looked  as  if  she  could  both  think  and 
laugh.  Eefinement  and  grace  and  youthful  dignity 
you  could  see  in  her  whole  manner.  She  must  have 
been  bred  where  the  best  influences  would  form  a 
young  lady  of  more  than  ordinary  attractions.  You 
would  have  said  that  she  was  about  twenty, — not  more 
than  twenty-one. 


178  JOHN  charAxes. 

"Mrs.  Gascoigne,"  said  the  sprightly  Mrs.  Davis, 
"suppose  we  cross  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  room  ?" 

"  I  think  we  are  very  well  here,"  replied  Mrs.  Gas- 
coigne ;  "  it  is  my  usual  seat.  But  do  not  let  me  keep 
you  here,  Mrs.  Davis,  if  you  wish  to  change." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  know  the  Brewster  party.  That 
old  gentleman  over  there  is  a  very  interesting  person, 
and  I  think  your  son  would  be  glad  to  know  the  young 
lady.  She  is  Mr.  Brewster's  daughter,  and  the  other 
lady  is  his  sister." 

"  I  will  remain  here,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Davis,  but  you 
can  take  James  over  and  present  him  to  Mr.  Brewster, 
and  if  the  father  chooses  to  present  him  to  the  daugh- 
ter, I  presume  he  will  do  so." 

"  Oh,  you  Boston  people  are  so  precise !  But  come, 
Mr.  James,  give  me  your  arm,  and  let  me  put  you  as 
far  into  the  Brewster  circle  as  your  mother  will  allow 
me  to." 

This  was  said  rather  tartly,  but  Mrs.  Gascoigne  smiled 
and  nodded  good-naturedly  as  Mrs.  Davis  glided  away 
with  James.  He  was  nothing  loath  to  make  new  ac- 
quaintances at  any  time.  He  was  what  the  newspapers 
now  call  a  "  society  man,"  and  at  Saratoga,  as  else- 
where, he  was  a  general  favorite. 

"  Mr.  Brewster,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  "  this  young  gen- 
tleman is  Mr.  James  Gascoigne,  son  of  the  lady  to 
w^hom  I  introduced  you  this  morning."  She  did  not 
say  James  Bradshaw  Gascoigne,  as  she  might  have 
done  if  she  had  repeated  the  name  as  he  commonly  had 
it  put  on  his  card.  Mr.  Brewster  extended  his  hand  to 
James,  and  then  presented  him  to  Mr.  Charaxes.  The 
old  gentleman  did  not  rise,  but  with  a  bland  smile  he 
held  out  his  right  hand  to  James,  who  bowed  over  it 
most  deferentially.  The  ladies  thought  that  this  young 
man's  manners  were  very  good. 

"I  presume,  young  gentleman,"  said  Charaxes,  "you 
are  a  dancing  man.  It  is  singular  how  fashions  change, 
and  how  you  import  them  into  this  country.  In  my 
youth,  waltzing  was  not  practised  everywhere,  but  now 
it  is  universal ;  in  fact,  all  over  the  world.  You  waltz, 
of  course,  Mr.  Gascoigne  ?" 


AN   UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  179 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do  when  I  can  get  a  partner ;  but  I  do 
not  like  to  ask  young  ladies  to  dance  round  dances, 
unless  I  know  that  they  and  their  friends  approve 
of  it." 

^  This  was  not  said  with  any  purpose  to  recommend 
himself  in  the  circle  into  which  he  had  been  partially 
introduced,  but  it  struck  Mr.  Brewster  as  evincing 
rather  more  modesty  than  he  had  seen  some  young 
men  exhibit.  Still,  he  did  not  present  James  to  the 
ladies,  and  Mrs.  Davis  began  to  fidget.  Standing  on  tip- 
toe, she  whispered  behind  her  fan,  ''  Mr.  Brewster,  this 
young  Grascoigne  is  a  very  nice  fellow,  and  his  mother 
is  one  of  the  first  ladies  in  Boston.  Won't  you  present 
him  to  your  daughter?" 

Brewster  had  easily  divined  her  object  in  bringing 
the  young  man  across  the  room,  but  he  did  not  know 
that  it  was  the  tact  of  his  mother  that  had  limited 
Mrs.  Davis's  "  good  offices"  to  presenting  him  to  the 
young  lady's  father.  He  had  been  in  no  haste  to  com- 
ply with  the  wishes  of  the  officious  little  woman,  but 
in  the  short  interval  that  had  elapsed  he  reflected  that 
she  would  probably  accomplish  her  object  in  some  way, 
and,  seeing  that  it  was  getting  a  little  awkward  for  the 
young  gentleman  to  be  standing  there  authorized  to 
speak  to  no  one  but  Mr.  Charaxes  and  himself,  he  said, 
politely,  ''Mr.  Gascoigne,  let  me  present  you  to  my 
sister  and  daughter."  The  little  ceremony  over,  James, 
like  any  well-bred  young  man,  first  addressed  himself 
to  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies, — 

"  You  came  only  yesterday,  I  believe,  Miss  Brewster?" 

"  Yes ;  how  long  have  you  been  here  ?" 

"  A  little  over  two  weeks.  My  mother  and  I  always 
like  to  get  away  from  the  first  hot  weather  in  Boston. 
Are  your  summers  in  Detroit  very  warm?" 

"  The  climate  of  Detroit  is  different  from  yours.  I 
am  a  native  of  Massachusetts,  but  I  have  lived  so  long 
in  the  West  that  I  cannot  now  compare  the  climates 
of  the  two  cities  very  closely.  We  have  a  good  deal 
of  hot  weather,  but  the  heat  is  tempered  by  the  lakes. 
Is  this  a  gay  season  for  Saratoga  ?" 

"  Quite  so ;  the  hotels  are  all  very  full." 


180  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

"  They  seem  to  be  forming  quadrilles.  Do  not  let  us 
keep  you  from  the  dancing." 

"I  was  about  asking  your  niece  to  become  my  part- 
ner." Then  turning  to  Margaret,  he  asked  if  he  might 
have  the  honor,  etc.  She  accepted  very  simply,  and 
they  were  soon  provided  with  a  vis-d-vis.  The  music 
was  most  animating,  and  Margaret  enjoyed  dancing. 

Mrs.  Gascoigne  watched  all  that  occurred  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  room  without  seeming  to  do  so,  and 
just  as  James  was  leading  Margaret  upon  the  floor,  Mrs. 
Davis  came  over,  escorted  by  the  old  gentleman  who 
had  been  occupying  the  arm-chair. 

"  I  have  brought  my  Detroit  neighbor,  Mr.  Charaxes, 
to  pay  his  respects  to  you,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,"  she  said,  tri- 
umphantly. Charaxes  made  his  bow  most  gracefully, 
and  took  the  seat  on  the  sofa  to  which  Mrs.  Gascoigne' 
invited  him.  Mrs.  Davis  said  she  would  go  and  speak 
to  Mrs.  Harding,  her  minister's  wife ;  Dr.  Harding  was 
at  the  Springs  to  drink  the  waters  on  account  of  dys- 
pepsia. By  this  time  the  room  had  become  very  full, 
and,  as  some  five  hundred  people  were  all  talking  with 
their  voices  raised  to  the  highest  pitch,  there  was  a 
tremendous  uproar,  in  which  poor  old  Charaxes  could 
hardly  hear  himself  think. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,"  he  said,  "  that  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  make  you  hear  me  in  this  din,  for  my 
voice  is  not  very  strong.  Is  it  your  climate,  or  what  is 
it,  that  makes  people  talk  so  loudly  in  this  country,  in 
all  large  assemblies  ?" 

"  It  is  a  national  habit,  sir,  no  doubt,  but  I  do  not  know 
how  to  account  for  it.  In  some  observation  that  I  had 
in  English  society,  in  the  early  part  of  my  life,  I  noticed 
that  people  did  not  converse  in  such  loud  tones  as  we 
do,  and  consequently  it  was  not  so  fatiguing  to  be  in 
the  largest  assemblies,  as  it  is  with  us.  Perhaps  our 
nervous  temperaments  make  us  speak  as  we  do.  Our 
climate  is  supposed  to  have  something  to  do  with  our 
eagerness ;  and  many  of  us  are  more  or  less  under  ex- 
citement in  a  large  company.  A  quiet  and  composed 
manner  is  rare  among  us,  in  both  men  and  women.  You 
have  probably  observed  this  ?" 


AN   UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  181 

^  "  Yes  ;  but  if  people  would  only  reflect  that  it  is  dis- 
tinctness of  utterance,  and  not  volume  of  sound,  that 
makes  conversation  audible  by  those  to  whom  we  are 
speaking,  there  would  not  be  this  uproar  that  is  so 
trying  to  one's  nerves." 

"But  you  have  probably  noticed,  sir,  that  each  one 
is  impelled  to  raise  his  or  her  voice,  because  the  other 
person  in  the  conversation  could  not  otherwise  hear, 
and  so  the  noise  goes  on  crescendo.  It  will  probably 
be  a  long  time  before  we  shall  get  over  this  habit  and 
learn  to  speak  in  lower  tones.  Our  language  ought  to 
be  a  musical  one ;  and  I  think  you  must  have  observed 
that  many  educated  English  women  make  it  so  in  con- 
versation." 

"  Very  often,  and  most  agreeably.  But  how  differ- 
ently their  men  speak!  I  do  not  believe  that  public 
men  in  the  time  of  Burke  and  Fox  had  the  hesitating, 
stammering  style  of  speaking  that  most  Englishmen 
have  to-day.  It  is  a  modern  trick,  I  fiincy.  They  are 
by  no  means  so  fluent  as  your  public  men.  But  as  I 
have  made  a  criticism  upon  one  peculiarity  of  your 
national  manners,  I  can  say  that  I  sometimes  meet 
with  \QYj  good  individual  manners.  Your  son,  madam, 
seems  to  be  one  of  those  rare  young  men  who  are  re-. 
spectful  to  elderly  people.  I  think  my  friends  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room  were  quite  pleased  with  him.  I 
am  sure  that  I  was." 

"  I  believe  that  he  does  know  the  rules  of  good  be- 
havior ;  I  wish  he  knew  as  much  about  more  practical 
matters." 

"  Is  he  not  in  a  profession  or  in  any  kind  of  busi- 
ness ?" 

"  No,  he  has  no  steady  employment,  and  although  in 
one  sense  he  is  under  no  necessity  to  work,  I  should  be 
happy  if  he  were  so  situated  as  to  work  for  some  other 
object.  But  there  is  very  little  chance  in  our  country 
for  young  men  who  are  not  dependent  on  their  hands 
or  their  heads  for  subsistence.  We  are  getting  to  have 
quite  a  class  of  educated  men  who  do  nothing ;  and  I 
wish  I  could  take  my  son  out  of  that  category." 

"  He  should  come  out  to  the  West.  There  he  would 
16 


182  JOHN  charAxes. 

find  a  field  for  all  the  energies  that  he  could  bring,  and 
if  he  brought  money  too,  so  much  the  better." 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,  that  his  mother  would  be  an 
obstacle  to  that  plan.  He  is  my  only  child,  and  I 
could  not  part  with  him.  You  can  understand  how 
a  mother's  fondness  may  become  a  stumbling-block  in 
the  path  of  an  only  son." 

"Well,  madam,  the  gentleman  to  whom  your  son 
was  just  now  presented — my  friend,  Mr.  Brewster — has 
risen  to  great  eminence,  and  he  might  be  able  to  sug- 
gest to  you  many  things  that  I  cannot,  for,  although 
I  have  lived  for  more  than  twenty  years  in  this  country, 
I  have  been  a  mere  looker-on.  Will  you  let  me  take 
you  across  the  room  and  make  you  acquainted  with 
Miss  Brewster  ?" 

"The  lady  with  the  beautiful  white  hair?  Mr. 
Brewster  was  presented  to  me  this  morning,  but  I 
have  not  met  the  ladies  of  his  family.  Under  such 
auspices  as  yours,  Mr.  Charaxes,  I  ought  to  feel  quite 
safe." 

"I  have  a  special  motive  for  wishing  my  friends 
to  know  you, — quite  a  selfish  one,  I  admit.  I  am  ar- 
ranging a  party  to  go  out  to  the  lake  and  dine  alfresco 
next  Tuesday,  and  I  hope  you  and  your  son  will  join  us. 
I  do  not  know  many  of  the  people  here,  and  it  is  not 
always  prudent  to  let  the  active  Mrs.  Davis  choose 
one's  acquaintances,  although  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
for  once  I  am  exceedingly  obliged  to  her." 

This  gallant  little  speech,  made  with  a  bow,  quite 
captivated  Mrs.  Gascoigne;  and,  thinking  that  it  would 
be  best  to  let  things  happen  in  their  usual  course,  she 
rose  and  took  the  old  gentleman's  arm.  They  threaded 
their  way  through  the  crowd,  and  as  Mr.  Charaxes  was 
aware  that  Mr.  Brewster  had  been  introduced  to  Mrs. 
Gascoigne  that  morning,  he  had  only  to  present  her  to 
Miss  Brewster.  The  lady  and  gentleman  who  had  been 
lovers  a  long  time  ago  merely  bowed  to  each  other,  with 
a- formal  "good-evening."  Miss  Brewster,  without  the 
slightest  idea  who  Mrs.  Gascoigne  was,  excepting  that 
she  was  the  mother  of  the  young  gentleman  then 
dancing  with  her  niece,  rose,  greeted  the  stranger  lady 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING,  183 

very  graciously,  and  tbey  sat  down.  Brewster  turned 
and  began  to  converse  with  Mr.  Charaxes.  When  the 
quadrille  was  over  the  band  played  a  fine  march,  and 
the  dancers,  with  others  of  the  company,  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  in  pairs.  Margaret  and  James  prom- 
enaded in  the  long  procession  with  a  better  oppor- 
tunity for  conversation  than  there  had  been  in  the 
dance. 

"I  think  you  said,"  observed  James,  "that  you  have 
never  been  in  Boston.  Shall  you  not  visit  it  on  your 
way  home?" 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  we  shall  be  absent.  I  wish 
very  much  to  see  Boston,  but  my  father  is  an  exceed- 
ingly busy  man.  You,  I  suppose,  will  return  home 
soon ;  gentlemen  have  so  much  to  do." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do,  and  we  shall  probably  remain 
here  until  October,  unless  we  go  to  Lake  George  for  a 
short  time." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  do  ?  How  do  you  manage  to 
exist  ?     Do  you  not  get  very  much  wearied  ?" 

(If  Margaret  had  been  a  young  lady  of  the  present 
period  she  would  probably  have  said,  "  awfully  bored.") 

"Perhaps  I  do  at  times;  but  then,  you  see,  a  fellow 
who  is  not  in  a  profession  or  business  of  any  kind  has 
to  have  a  great  deal  of  occupation  in  carrying  on 
society.    That  is  my  case,  fortunately  or  unfortunately." 

"  I  should  say  unfortunately,  but  as  we  have  not 
much  of  that  where  I  live,  I  cannot  form  an  idea  about 
it  where  it  exists.  How  much  time  does  it  take  for  the 
social  occupations  of  which  you  speak  ?" 

"  The  whole  time  that  one  cares  to  be  doing  anything. 
Last  winter  I  was  one  of  the  managers  of  some  assem- 
blies that  were  held  at  Papanti's  hall,  and  I  was  kept 
very  busy.     I  shall  not  try  it  again." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  prefer  travelling?" 

"I  have  never  been  abroad,  and  my  mother  has 
always  been  averse  to  going.  I  could  not  leave  her 
at  home  alone." 

"  Why  not  travel  in  our  own  country  ?  There  is  a 
great  deal  to  be  seen.  I  am  sure  you  would  find  the 
West  interesting.    Scenery,  manners,  difi'erent  laws  and 


184  JOHN  charAxes. 

customs  of  different  States,  the  wonderful  growth  of  the 
country, — it  seems  to  me  that  I  should  like  to  observe 
all  this,  although  we  have  not  the  antiquity  and  noble 
buildings  and  monuments  of  art  that  are  to  be  seen  in 
Europe.  If  you  should  come  out  to  the  West,  my 
father  could  point  out  to  you  many  things  worth 
seeing." 

"  Now  that  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  making  your 
acquaintance  there  would  be  a  great  inducement  to  come 
out  there.  But  then,  you  see,  I  should  have  to  come 
back  to  Boston  and  resume  my  old  life." 

They  had  now  returned  to  the  part  of  the  room 
where  Miss  Brewster  was  conversing  with  Mrs.  Gas- 
coigne,  and  Margaret  was  presented  to  that  lady  by 
her  aunt.  Mrs.  Gascoigne  rarely  failed  to  impress  people 
when  she  wished  to  please  ;  and  Miss  Brewster  had  so 
much  enjoyed  her  conversation,  that  when  Mr.  Charaxes 
proposed  his  plan  for  the  excursion  to  the  lake,  and 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  her  son  accepted  the  invitation, 
Miss  Brewster  expressed  her  gratification  very  decid- 
edly. Margaret  politely  joined  in  her  aunt's  expression 
of  pleasure,  but  she  had  only  just  seen  Mrs.  Gascoigne, 
and  James  had  not  seemed  to  her  a  very  interesting 
person. 

When  the  evening  was  over,  and  James  had  kissed 
his  mother  a  good-night,  and  her  maid  had  left  her,  she 
sat  down  to  reflect  on  the  strange  ordeal  that  she  had 
gone  through  that  day.  It  would  last  longer, — how 
would  it  end  ?  Would  there  be  an  accidental  discovery, 
that  might  make  known  to  Miss  Brewster  that  she  was 
the  woman  about  whom  her  brother  had  probably  told 
her  so  many  years  ago  ?  How  much  would  it  be  safe 
for  her  to  be  in  the  society  of  these  persons  ?  What 
might  that  busy  Mrs.  Davis  learn  and  divulge  ?  How 
would  Mr.  Brewster  continue  to  comport  himself?  She 
did  not  ask  herself  these  questions  with  reference  to 
any  one's  future  but  her  son's.  From  that  moment, 
however,  one  thought  suddenly  took  possession  of  her 
mind  and  held  it  for  a  long  time.  If  James  were  to 
marry  this  daughter  of  Henry  Brewster, — it  might  be 
a  wild  hope,  but  she  could  not  exclude  it.     The  girl 


^iV^   UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  185 

was  evidently  a  very  superior  person.  Isabel's  whole 
existence  was  wrapped  up  in  her  son.  It  must  not  be 
assumed,  however,  that  she  was  about  to  become  a 
scheming  match-maker.  She  was  a  w^oman  of  too  much 
dignity  of  feeling  for  that  kind  of  effort.  She  could 
have  and  could  cherish  this  hope,  and  watch  and  wait 
for  its  fruition,  without  doing  anything  that  ought  to 
lessen  her  self-respect.  Before  the  day  for  the  excur- 
sion to  the  lake  she  heard  Mrs.  Davis  say  that  Mr. 
Brewster  had  been  a  w^idower  for  many  years.  This 
information,  which  came  to  her  accidentally  and  with- 
out her  asking  any  question  about  him,  instead  of 
making  the  situation  more  erabarassing  to  her,  seemed 
to  render  it  less  so.  She  did  not  in  the  least  fear  any 
allusion  by  him  to  their  former  relation. 

How  was  it  with  Brewster  himself?  The  circum- 
stances of  his  life,  the  rigorous  and  severe  effort  with 
which  he  had  torn  out  from  his  heart  the  thought 
of  Isabel  Bradshaw — his  marriage,  the  loss  and  the 
memory  of  his  wife,  his  absorption  in  the  cares  of  busi- 
ness and  in  such  public  affairs  as  he  took  an  interest 
in,  varied  only  by  the  education  of  his  daughter  and 
the  society  of  his  sister  and  of  old  Charaxes — had  made 
him  appear  somewhat  cold  in  temperament,  and  in  any 
general  company  a  little  formal  in  manner.  A  second 
marriage  in  his  case  had  always  been  improbable,  and 
a  marriage  with  Isabel,  if  they  should  ever  meet  again, 
never  entered  his  thoughts.  But  now  that  they  had 
met,  he  was  a  man  of  so  much  correctness  of  feeling 
that  he  was  sure  to  avoid  everything  that  might  in- 
crease her  discomfort.  He  had  never  forgotten  what 
his  sister  said  to  him  so  many  years  ago, — that  Miss 
Bradshaw's  conduct  had  better  remain  a  mystery. 
JN'ow  that  they  had  met,  after  such  a  long  period,  in 
which  other  interests  and  the  great  change  from  youth 
to  middle  life  had  almost  wrought  a  change  of  identity 
in  both  of  them,  he  thought,  when  he  thought  of  their 
early  days  at  all,  that  it  was  most  probable  the  mys- 
tery could  never  have  been  explained,  because  her  ap- 
parently heartless  conduct  had  been  produced  by  some- 
thing that  she  could  never  have  spoken  of      At  all 

16* 


186  JOHN  charAxes. 

events,  the  secret  was  her  own  ;  if  he  had  ever  had  a 
wish  to  know  it  he  could  not,  under  any  circumstances, 
make  the  least  effort  to  learn  it  now.  Nor  was  there 
any  likelihood  that  he  would  ever  desire  to  do  so,  be- 
cause her  son  and  his  daughter  had  met  in  one  of  these 
cross  accidents  of  life  which  bring  about  encounters 
that  no  calculation  could  have  foreseen.  For  a  long 
time  he  did  not  think  of  James  in  any  relation  to  his 
daughter  save  as  a  casual  acquaintance.  He  read  young 
men  almost  at  a  glance.  He  saw  that  this  one  was  a 
well-bred  and  amiable  fellow,  but  it  could  not  have 
occurred  to  him  that  Margaret  would  become  interested 
in  such  a  person.  My  readers  must  not  blame  me  if  I 
do  not  shape  things  to  meet  their  wishes. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   PICNIC   AT    SARATOGA   LAKE. 

CharIxes  had  given  carte-hlanche  to  a  noted  "ca- 
terer" to  provide  an  entertainment  for  forty  people,  in 
a  pine-grove  on  the  border  of  Saratoga  Lake.  The  day 
was  fine;  one  of  those  perfect  summer  days  which,  in 
our  climate,  seem  set  apart  for  storing  electricity  in  the 
upper  regions  of  the  atmosphere,  and  holding  it  in 
reserve  to  be  discharged  into  the  earth  on  the  next  or 
some  future  day.  There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  heavens ; 
the  mercury  in  the  thermometer  stood  at  a  high  point, 
but  the  heat  was  not  oppressive.  The  time  for  the  ren- 
dezvous was  fixed  in  the  invitations  at  noon.  Mrs. 
Gascoigne  and  her  son  drove  out  in  their  own  carriage, 
and  took  Mrs.  Davis  with  them.  Mr.  Charaxes  and 
the  Brewster  family  went  in  a  hired  barouche.  The 
other  guests  found  their  way  in  different  conveyances. 
By  this  time,  Mr.  Brewster  and  Mrs.  Gascoigne  had 
frequently  met  at  the  hotel,  in  the  company  of  other 
persons,  and  if  either  of  them  felt,  neither  exhibited 
any  embarrassing   constraint  in  the  presence  of  the 


A   PICNIC  AT  SARATOGA   LAKE.  187 

other.  Since  the  introduction  on  the  morning  after 
Brewster's  arrival,  he  had  not  addressed  any  conver- 
sation to  Mrs.  Gascoigne  but  the  most  formal  and 
casual.  His  sister,  who  had  become  interested  in  the 
Boston  lady,  and  thought  her  very  nice,  observed  that 
he  did  not  pay  to  her  the  attentions  which  gentlemen 
commonly  pay  to  ladies ;  but  she  w^as  used  to  his  habit- 
ual indifference  to  the  society  of  ladies  in  general,  and 
thought  little  of  it  in  this  case.  Other  persons  did  not 
conclude  that  Mr.  Brewster  specially  avoided  the  lady 
from  Boston.  James,  without  any  hint  from  his  mother, 
had  improved  every  fair  opportunity  to  converse  with 
Margaret  before  the  excursion  to  the  lake,  but  he  had 
not  impressed  her  as  an  acquaintance  whom  she  cared 
to  know  more  intimately. 

The  company  were  all  punctually  at  the  place  ap- 
pointed. A  sail  on  the  lake  was  to  be  the  first  part  of 
the  programme.  They  embarked  on  a  small  steamer; 
over  the  deck  w^as  stretched  an  awning,  which  sheltered 
them  from  the  sun  without  obstructing  the  view  on 
either  side.  There  was  a  gentle  breeze  sweetened  by 
the  odor  of  the  pine  woods.  All  the  gues'ts  had  paid 
their  respects  to  Mr.  Charaxes  before  the  embarkation. 
On  the  boat,  those  of  them  who  had  not  known  the 
Brewsters  before  were  duly  presented.  There  were 
other  young  men  and  young  ladies  in  the  company  who 
were  acquainted  with  Margaret,  but  James  managed  to 
secure  a  seat  by  her  side,  and  he  kept  it  through  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  little  voyage.  Mr.  Charaxes  had 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  seated  on  his  right  and  Miss  Brewster 
on  his  left.  The  old  man  was  in  his  most  genial  mood, 
and  talked  on  a  great  variety  of  subjects.  Mr.  Brews- 
ter walked  up  and  down,  conversing  mostly  with  gen- 
tlemen. He  happened  for  a  moment  to  pause  in  front 
of  Mr.  Charaxes,  when  an  elderly  gentleman  from  Bos- 
ton came  up  and  said  to  him  in  "Isabel's  hearing,  "I 
think,  sir, — perhaps  I  am  mistaken, — you  will  pardon 
me, — but  I  think  I  have  seen  you  before.  Did  you 
not  study  law  in  Boston  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Brewster ;  "  I  received  my  professional 
education  at  the  Cambridge  Law  School." 


188  JOHN  charAxes. 

"  Ah,  it  was  there  perhaps  that  I  may  have  met  you, 
or  have  seen  you.  My  son  was  there  at  about  the  same 
time,  probably.     Perhaps  you  knew  him  ?" 

"  I  do  not  recall  you  or  your  son,"  replied  Brewster, 
"  but  I  am  very  happy  to  know  you  now.  I  have  lived 
in  Detroit  for  nearly  twenty-five  years,  and  have  not 
been  in  Boston  during  all  that  time."  The  two  gen- 
tlemen then  strolled  to  the  forward  part  of  the  boat, 
where  they  found  seats. 

This  was  one  of  the  little  perils  to  which  Isabel  was 
frequently  exposed,  for  there  were  several  Boston  people 
in  the  company,  some  of  whom  were  old  enough  to 
have  known  Brewster  when  she  was  engaged  to  him. 
But,  fortunately,  nothing  occurred  to  recall  that  history 
to  the  recollections  of  any  of  them. 

They  sailed  around  the  lake  several  times. 

"  How  does  this  scenery  strike  you,  Mr.  Charaxes  ?" 
asked  Isabel. 

"  It  is  pretty,  but  diminutive.  If  the  hills  were  a 
little  bolder,  it  might  remind  one  of  the  lakes  in  Cum- 
berland. But  my  eye  has  been  long  accustomed  to 
grander  objects.  One  who  has  seen  the  Nile  and  the 
Pyramids,  has  traversed  the  deserts  of  Arabia,  has 
beheld  all  the  scenery  of  Europe,  and  has  in  old  age 
become  familiar  with  most  of  the  great*  natural  sights 
in  America,  cannot  feel  that  such  scenery  as  this  is 
notable.  By  the  bye,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  we  shall  probably 
stop  at  Niagara  on  our  way  home.  Do  you  not  mean 
to  extend  your  tour  to  the  Falls  ?  It  would  give  us  all 
pleasure  to  meet  you  there." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Brewster,  "  let  us  hope  that  we 
may  meet  you  at  Niagara,  Mrs.  Gascoigne." 

"  I  was  at  Niagara,"  replied  Isabel,  "  when  I  was 
very  young.  They  used  to  ask  me  in  England  to  de- 
scribe it,  but  of  course  a  young  girl's  recollections  could 
give  no  one  an  idea  of  it." 

"  Can  any  one's  recollection  ?"  asked  Charaxes ; 
"  words  cannot  describe  Niagara.  I  have  read  most  of 
the  prose  and  the  poetry  that  have  been  written  about 
it,  but  they  do  not  give  a  person  who  has  not  seen  it 
any  idea  of  it." 


A   PICNIC  AT  SARATOGA   LAKE.  189 

"Yet,"  said  Isabel,  "you  would  not  have  people  re- 
frain from  writing  about  the  sublime  objects  in  nature, 
would  you,  sir?  Coleridge's  description  of  Mont  Blanc 
is  something  worth  having,  even  to  persons  who  have 
never  seen  it.  Byron's  apostrophe  to  the  ocean,  if  it 
had  not  become  so  hackneyed  by  repetition,  would 
move  us  strongly,  although  it  is  certainly  no  substitute 
for  a  sight  of  the  ocean.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have 
read  descriptions  of  Niagara  that  were  of  more  value 
than  the  service  which  they  perform  in  the  guide-books 
when  they  are  quoted  in  those  useful  publications." 

"  Coleridge's  famous  hymn,"  said  Charaxes,  "  is  a  very 
impressive  expression  of  his  own  emotions,  produced 
by  the  sight  of  Mont  Blanc.  But  it  will  not  supply 
you  or  me  with  emotions.  Nothing  will  do  that  but 
the  awful  mountain  itself  Come  to  Niagara,  and, 
whether  you  comprehended  it  at  all  or  did  not  take  it  in 
at  all  when  you  were  young,  give  yourself,  now  that 
your  perceptions  and  your  feelings  will  better  enable 
you  to  study  it,  an  opportunity  to  see  how  it  grows  and 
grows  upon  us  the  more  we  see  of  it." 

"  My  son  has  never  seen  Niagara,  and  perhaps  I  will 
think  of  your  suggestion." 

"  To  see  it  is  an  education  ;  that  part  of  education 
which,  whenever  begun,  is  never  finished." 

"  My  education,"  said  Isabel,  "  in  the  appreciation  of 
scenery  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  had  a  beginning, 
and  in  art  it  has  been  even  less.  During  my  married 
life  I  seldom  went  anywhere  out  of  London ;  and  since 
my  return  to  Boston  I  have  been  so  situated  for  many 
years  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  confine  my  travelling 
to  the  nearer  summer  resorts  to  which  we  New-Eng- 
landers  go  for  escape  from  hot  weather." 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  abroad,  and  take  your  son  ?" 

"  My  residence  in  England  was  on  some  accounts  a 
painful  part  of  my  hfe.  I  could  not  go  abroad  without 
visiting  England,  and  I  could  not  do  that." 

''  The  whole  continent  of  Europe  is  open  to  you,  as 
well  as  the  East." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  England  is  closed  to  me  by  very  sad 
memories." 


190  JOHN   CHARAXES. 

The  old  gentleman  saw  that  this  must  not  be  pur- 
sued farther;  but  it  interested  Miss  Brewster  still  more 
in  the  beautiful  widow. 

They  came  back  to  the  landing-place  shortly  before  six 
o'clock.  That  hour  had  been  fixed  for  the  dinner.  The 
table  was  laid  in  an  open  space  in  a  grove  of  pines, 
which  shaded  it  from  the  rays  of  the  descending  sun. 
The  shadows  were  thrown  longer  and  longer  to  the 
east ;  the  twilight  extended  far  on  into  the  evening, 
mellowing,  fading,  slowly  giving  way  to  the  moonlight 
which  came  to  take  its  place  from  the  deep  vault  of  an 
unclouded  sky.  The  night  was  as  perfect  as  the  day 
had  been.  They  did  not  leave  the  table  until  after  nine 
o'clock.  Different  groups  then  strolled  among  the  trees, 
awaiting  the  carriages,  which  had  been  ordered  at  ten. 
James,  who  had  been  careful  to  be  with  Margaret  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  day, — she  did  not  avoid  him, — walked 
by  her  side,  with  some  other  young  people,  and  pretty 
soon  they  were  far  enough  in  advance  of  the  others  to 
admit  of  a  tete-d-tete.  He  was  anxious  for  a  little  greater 
intimacy,  tentatively  experimenting  to  learn,  if  he  could, 
how  this  very  composed  girl  was  disposed  to  feel  to- 
wards him.  Margaret  had  not  thought  of  his  atten- 
tions to  her  as  if  they  were  prompted  by  a  tender  feel- 
ing. She  was  very  willing  to  talk  with  him  on  any 
subject,  but  she  did  not  imagine  that  he  was  becoming, 
or  had  become,  in  love  with  her.  Love,  save  for  her 
aunt  and  her  father  and  old  Charaxes,  was  a  feeling  that 
she  had  never  experienced.  She  did  not  dream  of  being 
asked  for  it  by  this  young  man,  whom  she  had  known 
for  four  or  five  days;  nor  did  James  think  of  asking  for 
it  now.  He  wished  to  learn  whether  he  could  probably 
ever  ask  for  it  later  on. 

"You  were  speaking  the  other  night,"  he  said  to 
her,  "  about  travelling  in  America.  I  felt  very  much 
honored  by  your  suggestions,  but  I  hope  you-  see  what 
my  difficulties  are.  I  have  had  no  occupation  in  life, 
because  I  did  not  need  one  in  order  to  earn  my  bread. 
If  I  were  to  travel  ever  so  much  in  our  own  country, 
I  should  come  home  without  being  any  nearer  to  a 
steady  and  fixed  position." 


A   PICNIC  AT  SARATOGA   LAKE.  191 

"A  girl  who  has  seen  so  little  of  the  world  as  I 
have,"  said  Margaret,  "cannot  understand  such  diffi- 
culties. I  only  meant  to  say  that  perhaps  you  would 
find  some  opening  if  you  were  to  go  away  from  Boston 
and  see  more  of  your  own  country.  But  it  is  really 
absurd  in  me  to  talli  about  such  things.  My  father  and 
Mr.  Charaxes  could  tell  you  about  the  West.  I  hope 
you  will  not  attach  any  importance  to  my  opinions." 

"I  will  not,  if  you  forbid  it;  but  one  likes  to  have 
the  sympathy  of  young  friends  as  well  as  the  advice 
of  older  ones." 

"  My  sympathy  can  do  you  no  good,  Mr.  Gascoigne, 
so  long  as  I  cannot  help  you."  This  was  a  little  severe, 
but  it  was  not  said  in  an  unkindly  manner.  He  thought 
he  would  venture  to  touch  upon  the  probability  of 
their  meeting  again. 

"  My  mother  told  me,  just  now,  that  Mr.  Charaxes 
said  that  you  thought  of  stopping  at  Niagara  on  your 
way  home,  and  that  he  had  proposed  to  her  to  visit 
the  Falls." 

"  I  believe  that  there  is  some  plan  of  that  kind,  but 
I  do  not  know  whether  my  father  will  consent.  I 
shall  be  very  glad  to  see  Niagara,  but  I  really  do  not 
know  that  anything  is  determined  about  our  move- 
ments. Now  that  Mr.  Charaxes  has  given  his  party, 
I  think  it  very  likely  he  will  not  care  to  remain  here 
much  longer,  and  I  do  not  myself  think  there  is  much 
to  stay  for.  But  I  must  find  my  aunt,  for  I  hear  the 
carriages  driving  up." 

James  accompanied  her  until  she  met  Miss  Brews- 
ter, and  saw  them  into  their  carriage.  He  then  found 
his  mother.  They  drove  in,  almost  without  a  word. 
Even  Mrs.  Davis  was  nearly  silent.  Isabel  was  think- 
ing how  she  could  speak  to  Mr.  Charaxes  on  some 
other  than  the  chance  topics  of  ordinary  conversation. 
This  old  man  had  become  somehow  strangely  connected 
in  her  mind  with  her  husband's  family.  She  could  not 
tell  how  or  why.  It  was  a  dim  and  shadowy  thought, 
but  it  was  there.  She  must  learn  something  of  his 
history,  if  possible.  His  notice  of  her  might  be  only 
his  usual  politeness ;  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  felt 


192  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

Bome  interest  in  her.  His  age  rendered  it  easy  for  her 
to  ask  him  about  his  past  life,  if  she  could  find  any 
reason  for  doing  so  that  would  not  make  the  inquiry 
seem  to  be  one  of  mere  curiosity.  She  could  have  no 
reason,  beginning  and  ending  in  herself,  for  cultivati-ng 
an  intimacy  with  him.  He  was  old  enough  to  have 
been  her  father,  and  any  regard  for  her  that  he  might 
feel  could  not  be  anything  but  the  benignant  kindness 
of  an  aged  man  towards  an  acquaintance  whom  he  had 
found  to  be  an  agreeable  woman. 

They  drove  into  the  village  past  "  The  Congress 
Spring."  The  little  park  was  filled  with  well-dressed 
people,  sauntering  about.  On  Broadway,  ladies  without 
bonnets  or  hats  thronged  the  sidewalk,  going  in  and 
out  of  the  shops,  which  were  still  open.  Moonlight 
and  gas-light  made  the  whole  scene  very  bright.  Elec- 
tric lighting  had  not  then  come  to  cast  sharp,  weird 
shadows  upon  the  ground,  black  and  palpably  strong. 
If  the  man  in  gray,  to  whom  Peter  Schlemihl  sold  his 
shadow,  had  made  his  bargain  at  the  present  day,  and 
had  undertaken  to  detach  his  acquisition  under  one  of 
Edison's  lights,  he  would  have  had  a  tough  job  of  it. 
As  it  was,  he  succeeded  pretty  well ;  for,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  he  took  the  shadow  as  it  was  made  by  the  sun 
at  noonday,  deftly  rolled  it  up  from  the  feet  to  the  head, 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  walked  off  with  it.  I  never 
behold  the  wild  blackness  of  the  shadows  cast  by  an 
"incandescent"  without  thinking  that  Mephistopheles 
would  have  found  their  peculiar  properties  too  much 
for  him.  But  the  moon  and  the  gas  did  very  well  for 
the  streets  of  Saratoga  on  that  beautiful  summer's 
night,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  gentleman  who 
made  the  trade  with  Schlemihl  may  have  been  about, 
picking  up  here  and  there,  from  man  or  woman,  some 
kind  of  personal  commodity — let  us  hope  that  it  was 
not  a  soul — in  exchange  for  a  fatal  gift  of  some  sort. 
He  did  not  venture,  however,  I  undertake  to  say,  into 
the  circle  of  our  friends  who  grouped  themselves  in 
chairs  around  Charaxes,  on  the  veranda  of  the  hotel. 
Some  one  sagely  remarked  that  it  was  a  fine  night ; 
whereupon  the  old  man  said,  "  Yes,  you  Americans  are 


A   PICNIC  AT  SARATOGA    LAKE.  193 

quite  right  in  glorifying  the  brilliancy  of  your  skies 
when  the  air  is  clear.  I  once  saw  a  scene  on  this  con- 
tinent that  surpassed,  in  its  way,  everj'thing  that  I  have 
beheld  in  any  other  part  of  the  world.  It  was  in  New 
England  too.  I  was  staying  for  a  short  time  in  the 
"White  Hills,  about  fifteen  years  ago.  The  house  in 
which  I  was  lodged  was  on  a  low  hill,  on  one  side  of  a 
valley,  opposite  to  a  range  of  very  respectable  moun- 
tains. An  amphitheatre  swept  around  this  spot  for 
forty  or  fifty  miles.  The  weather  had  been  just  as  we 
have  had  it  to-day:  a  cloudless  sky,  the  atmosphere 
warm  and  dry.  The  sun  went  down  with  that  lurid 
redness  which  foretells  another  day  of  the  same  kind. 
In  that  region,  when  the  night  is  calm,  there  rises  a 
thick  fog  from  the  streams  and  ponds  after  the  atmos- 
phere becomes  cooler  than  the  water,  and  this  mist 
often  overspreads  the  landscape  to  the  foot  of  the  hills. 
I  rose  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  looked  out 
over  the  valley.  The  moon  was  descending  to  the 
western  edge  of  the  hills  opposite  to  where  I  stood,  but 
her  light  was  very  strong.  Venus  blazed  near  her, 
with  extraordinary  power.  Over  the  whole  valley  lay 
the  hoary  mist  white  and  unruffled,  as  if  a  lake  had 
suddenly  been  spread  out  between  the  hill  w^here  I 
stood  and  the  opposite  mountains.  At  places  where 
the  surface  of  the  mist  did  not  rise  above  the  lower 
elevations  of  the  ground  islands  stood  distinct  and 
prominent  out  of  the  apparent  sheet  of  water,  with 
indented  shores,  and  the  trees  and  banks  were  reflected 
in  reverse,  just  as  we  see  them  in  real  water  in  certain 
states  of  light.  Far  off  to  the  left,  at  what  seemed  a 
distance  of  twenty  miles  or  more,  the  mockery  of  a  lake 
widened  out  into  an  ocean,  with  its  horizon  blending 
with  the  sky.  As  long  as  the  fog  lay  motionless,  its 
outer  edges  were  so  clearly  defined  that  at  a  distance 
of  a  hundred  yards  from  my  windows  the  line  was 
just  as  if  water  had  risen  to  where  the  rise  of  the 
ground  had  stopped  its  farther  ascent.  I  watched  it 
until  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  struck  its  surface,  and 
then  little  ripples  began  to  stir,  and  then  there  were 
waves,  and  pretty  soon  the  whole  was  breaking  and 
I        n  17 


194  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

floating  in  clouds  to  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  up 
which  they  crept  into  the  higher  atmosphere.  I  longed 
for  the  pencil  of  an  artist  to  sketch  this  extraordinary 
scene,  but  I  have  never  had  a  hand  of  that  sort,  al- 
though I  have  in  my  time  had  an  eye  that  could  enjoy 
such  things." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Brewster,  "  I  think  we  may  say 
that  you  can  describe  them,  if  you  cannot  paint  them. 
Now,  do  you  not  think  Mrs.  Gascoigne  rightly  said  that 
such  descriptions  are  of  some  value  ?" 

"  My  dear  lady,  you  must  not  put  my  poor  word- 
painting  alongside  of  Coleridge's  description  of  Mont 
Blanc.  I  am  no  poet,  as  you  know  very  well.  How 
does  it  run  ?  If  my  old  memory  serves  me,  these  are 
some  of  the  lines  : 

"  '  Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  sovran  of  the  Yale  ! 
O  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night, 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars, 
Or  when  they  climb  the  sky  or  when  they  sink : 
Companion  of  the  morning-star  at  dawn, 
Thyself  Earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald :  wake,  O  wake,  and  utter  praise ! 
Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  Earth  ? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light  ? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams?' 

"I  will  allow  that  there  is  nothing  finer  in  your 
language  than  this  sublime  hymn.  Still,  I  must  repeat 
that  this  kind  of  descriptive  poetry,  even  in  its  highest 
flights,  cannot  stir  us  as  the  sight  of  the  objects  can  and 
does.    If  you  want  emotions,  I  say,  with  your  Bryant, — 

"  '  Take  the  wings 
Of  morning  ;  traverse  Barca's  desert  sands, 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings. ' 

"  Still  I  would  not  go  there  to  remember  the  poet's 
admonition, — 

"  '  Yet,  the  dead  are  there.' 

"  I  am  rather  too  fond  of  the  living,  and  if  you  will 
all  promise  to  come  to  Niagara,  I  will  not  try  to  find 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN   CHARAXES.  195 

how  we  can  there  'lie  down  with  patriarchs  of  the 
infant  world.'  I  rather  think  we  shall  have  enough  to 
do  without  studying  '  the  solemn  decorations  all,  of 
the  great  tomb  of  man,'  unless  another  Sam  Patch 
takes  it  into  his  head  to  make  the  fatal  plunge." 

And  so  he  rambled  on  to  a  late  hour,  and  the  streets 
were  still,  and  the  servants  came  out  and  turned  off  the 
gas,  and  gave  other  hints  that  they  had  work  to  do  in 
the  early  morning,  and  then  the  old  gentleman  arose, 
saying,  "  Well,  I  will  go  and  look  for  another  day  j" 
and  with  this  he  bade  them  all  good-night. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE     STORY     OF    JOHN     CHARAXES — A     MOTHER'S     SOLICI- 
TUDE   FOR    AX    ONLY    SON. 

Margaret  was  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Mr.  Cha- 
raxes  would  be  inclined  to  leave  Saratoga  very  soon 
after  he  had  had  the  amusement  of  his  party  at  the 
lake.  He  had  found  Mrs.  Gascoigne  more  intelligent 
and  conversable  than  most  of  the  ladies  in  the  company 
at  the  hotel  excepting  the  two  who  were  his  travel- 
ling companions.  He  and  they  stayed  on  for  three 
weeks  longer,  with  Mr.  Brewster's  tacit  and  patient 
assent.  In  those  three  weeks  James  was  a  great  deal 
with  Margaret,  but  he  did  not  make  much  progress  in 
her  regard.  If  the  topic  of  their  conversation  was  a 
light  one,  he  talked  pleasantly,  and  always  talked  like 
a  young  man  of  refinement  and  good  feelings.  If  the 
topic  became  serious,  he  soon  got  beyond  his  depth, 
while  she  was  looking  for  something  that  did  not 
appear  to  be  in  him.  In  the  gayeties  of  that  watering- 
place  life  she  was  not  indisposed  to  share,  to  be  amused, 
and  even  merry.  I  have  said  that  she  could  laugh  as 
well  as  think,  but  she  was  naturally  inclined  to  be 
thoughtful.  She  had  lived  rather  too  much  with  older 
persons,  and  not  enough  with  persons  of  her  own  age. 


196  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

She  had  read  a  great  deal,  and  much  of  her  reading 
had  been  in  studies  of  the  severer  kind,  more  so  than 
is  common  with  young  women.  Of  anything  approach- 
ing to  flirtation  she  was  entirely  incapable,  although 
she  did  not  lack  grace,  or  animation,  or  a  certain  kind 
of  brilliancy. 

The  weather  continued  fine  through  the  whole  of 
July,  but  when  the  harvest  moon  of  August  came  in 
there  was  a  change.  One  afternoon  there  was  a  ter- 
rific thunder-storm.  The  pent-up  moisture  and  elec- 
tricity that  had  accumulated  in  the  atmosphere  burst 
forth  with  great  violence.  The  lightning  was  incessant 
and  most  vivid ;  it  rained  torrents ;  the  streets  became 
rivers.  When  the  electrical  discharges  ceased  it "  settled 
down  into  a  rainy  night,"  as  the  homely  old  phrase 
used  to  have  it.  It  rained  all  the  next  day.  There 
was  no  stirring  out  of  doors.  The  five  or  six  hundred 
guests  in  the  hotel  were  sadly  off  for  occupation. 
Three  and  even  four  meals  a  day  could  not  fill  up  the 
time.  Card-tables  were  set  out  in  the  drawing-room 
and  the  parlors,  and  whist  afforded  some  relief  Sev- 
eral of  the  ladies  had  light  needle-work;  a  few  read; 
the  consumption  of  cigars  was  much  increased ;  two 
men  in  white  linen  jackets  were  kept  busy  all  the 
forenoon  making  "mint  juleps"  and  other  '-mixed 
drinks,"  in  which  their  skill  was  extraordinary.  Poli- 
tics, stocks,  and  the  coming  races  formed  the  staple  of 
conversation  among  the  gentlemen  who  stood  or  sat 
around  the  room  where  the  potations  were  dispensed, 
to  the  enormous  profit  of  the  hotel.  One  of  the  men 
behind  the  counter  had  a  marvellous  knack  in  preparing 
the  beverages.  Into  a  tall  tin  tumbler  he  dashed  little 
blocks  of  ice,  clearer  than  the  clearest  crj'stal,  which 
clicked  and  rattled  refreshingly.  Then  he  turned  in  the 
liquors  with  a  careless  but  accurate  fling,  and  sprinkled 
in  bits  of  the  fragrant  mint,  with  a  due  allowance  of 
sugar  and  a  very  thin  slice  of  lemon.  Then  holding 
the  tumbler  aloft  in  his  right  hand,  he  kept  up  for  half 
a  minute  an  endless  pouring  into  just  such  another 
receptacle  in  his  other  hand,  and  so  on,  back  and  forth, 
as  if  he  were  a  prestidigitator,  stretching  a  foaming 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN  CHAR  AXES.  I97 

ribbon  between  the  two  vessels.  This  done,  with  a 
ringing  rap  he  set  a  glass  goblet  on  the  counter,  and 
into  this  went  the  mixture,  cold,  strong,  and  sparkling 
with  little  bubbles,  each  glass  having  a  long  stem  of 
clean  white  straw  standing  upright  in  the  blocks  of 
ice ;  for  the  true  enjoyment  was  to  imbibe  the  nectar 
through  such  a  conduit.  Waiters  glided  with  these 
glasses  to  the  card-tables,  and  brought  back  empty 
ones.  But  you  are  to  understand,  if  you  please,  that 
the  fairer  half  of  creation  did  not  indulge  in  this  kind 
of  drinking.  If  they  asked  for  a  cup  of  tea,  it  was 
forthcoming,  and  the  tea  and  the  cream  were  of  the 
best;  and  so  was  the  thin  slice  of  bread  and  butter. 

Mrs.  Gascoigne  remained  in  her  own  parlor  all  the 
morning.  James  was  down  in  the  billiard-room.  At 
about  one  o'clock  his  mother  was  agreeably  surprised 
by  receiving  Mr.  Charaxes's  card,  brought  by  a  servant, 
on  which  he  had  pencilled  his  purpose  to  call  upon  her, 
if  she  would  receive  him. 

"  I  have  come  to  bestow  my  tediousness  on  you, 
madame,"  he  said,  as  he  entered,  ''  for  my  friends  are 
all  writing  letters.  Ah!  you  have  a  pretty  bit  of  em- 
broidery in  hand.  What  a  blessing  to  ladies  the  needle 
is  on  a  rainy  day!"  Isabel  rose  and  invited  him  to 
take  an  easy-chair,  so  placed  that  the  windows  would 
be  behind  him. 

"I  am  very  much  honored  by  your  visit,  sir,"  she 
said.       . 

"Have  you  made  up  your  mind  to  honor  us  by 
meeting  us  at  Niagara?" 

'•'  I  hardly  know  ;  my  son  wishes  to  go  very  much, 
and  I  .should  like  it  myself,  especially  as  I  may  not 
have  an  opportunity  here  to  speak  to  you  on  a  subject 
on  which  I  have  bee'n  thinking  a  good  deal  since  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  making  your  acquaintance." 

"  Yes  ?  This  is  as  good  a  time  as  any.  ]N"ever  put 
off  to  the  morrow  what  can  be  done  to-day.  How  can 
I  serve  you  ?" 

"  Mr.  Charaxes,  if  you  will  not  think  it  an  inquiry 
unwarranted  by  our  short  acquaintance,  may  I  ask  if 
your  name  is  not  of  Greek  origin  ?" 

17* 


198  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

"■  Undoubtedly ;  the  name  and  the  person  who  bears 
it  are  both  of  Greek  origin.     But  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"I  married  many  years  ago  into  an  English  family 
of  rank.  My  husband  was  the  ^-oungest  of  three  sons 
of  the  late  Earl  Gascoigne.  He  died  early  and  very 
suddenly.     Perhaps  you  may  have  heard  of  his  family?" 

"  I  do  not  remember  that  I  have.  But  Gascoigne  is 
Norman,  and  unless  you  go  back  to  the  Crusades  it  can- 
not have  had  much  to  do  with  anything  Greek."  As  he 
uttered  this  little  sally  his  keen  gray  eyes  twinkled 
under  the  overhancrincr  brow. 

"  I  shall  not  go  back  to  the  Crusades,"  Isabel  said  ; 
"  I  do  not  know  when  my  husband's  ancestors  became 
prominent,  or  what  their  earlier  exploits  or  any  of  their 
exploits  may  have  been.  But  in  the  time  of  Charles  I., 
Cromwell,  and  Charles  II.,  there  w^as  an  Earl  Gascoigne 
who  had  a  daughter,  of  whom  I  was  told  a  singular 
story,  that  connected  her  with  a  Greek  name,  all  trace 
of  which  is  now  supposed  to  be  lost.  I  never  meet 
with  a  Greek  name  without  thinking  of  this  story." 

"  To  be  sure,  the  time  of  Charles  II.  is  later  than  the 
Crusades.  It  is  a  very  respectable  antiquity,  as  they 
reckon  such  things  in  England,  but  not  so  far  oif,  one 
would  think,  as  to  have  obliterated  the  particulars  of 
a  family  story.  In  what  way  can  my  name  help  you, 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  ?  My  family  were  merchants  in  the  Le- 
vant for  centuries,  six  or  seven  generations  of  them.  I 
was  myself  born  in  Syria.  The  family  name,  Charaxes, 
probably  came  down  from  a  remote  period.  It  is  quite 
likely  (here  the  gray  eyes  twinkled  again)  that  there 
was  a  Charaxes  when  Cleopatra  came  in  her  yacht  to 
join  Marc  Antony,  and  perhaps  an  ancestor  of  mine 
ma}^  have  negotiated  some  of  the  bills  which  the  fasci- 
nating Egyptian  drew  on  her  treasury  at  home.  If 
you  want  antiquity,  there  is  quite  enough  of  it  in  my 
family.  But  tell  me,  frankly,  what  is  the  point  of  your 
inquiry,  and  I  will  give  you  all  the  information  I  can." 

"  I  said  I  would  not  go  back  to  the  Crusades,  and  I 
will  not  go  back  to  Cleopatra.  But  can  you  tell  me 
whether  any  of  your  family  w^ere  ever  established  in 
London  as  merchants  in  the  time  of  Charles  I.  ?" 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN   CHARAxES.  199 

"Seriously,  then,  I  do  not  know  that  I  can.  But  it 
would  not  be  difficult  to  ascertain.  If  such  was  the 
fact,  I  did  not  come  of  that  branch.  My  baptismal 
name  of  John,  like  my  patronymic,  Charaxes,  is  de- 
rived from  the  custom  in  modern  Greece.  As  to  the 
residence  in  England  of  persons  of  my  name  at  the 
time  to  which  you  refer,  I  can  only  say  that  in  old 
nriercantile  families  in  Greece  and  in  most  of  the  mari- 
time towns  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  Mediterranean 
papers  and  records  were  often  kept  a  long  time.  It  is 
quite  possible  that  a  distant  and  younger  kinsman  of 
mine,  who  represents  the  family  more  directly  than  I 
do,  could  ascertain  a  fact  which  happened  only  two  cen- 
turies ago,  if  it  ever  did  happen.  But  how  can  it  bene- 
fit you  to  know  whether  some  member  of  a  trading 
Greek  family  lived  in  England  in  the  time  of  the 
Stuarts  ?" 

"  Mr.  Charaxes,  I  must  relate  the  story  to  you,  if  it 
will  not  weary  you,  and  then  you  must  allow  me  to 
explain  how  I  came  to  feel  a  strong  desire  to  enlist  your 
interest  in  my  search." 

Isabel  then  repeated  to  him  the  story  of  Hen- 
rietta Gascoigne  as  it  was  told  to  her  by  her  sister-in- 
law.  Lady  Clare,  so  many  years  ago.  She  then  added, 
"You  will  think  me,  Mr.  Charaxes,  a  fond  and  foolish 
woman,  but  the  thought  has  taken  possession  of  my 
mind  that  Charaxes  was  or  may  have  been  the  name 
of  that  Greek  family." 

"  Your  idea  is  that  Charaxes  may  have  been  the  name 
of  the  adventurer  who  ran  away  with  your  husband's 
kinswoman  about  the  time  of  the  restoration  of  Charles 
II  The  chances  are  equally  good  that  it  was  some 
other  Greek  name.  But  suppose  that  it  was  the  same 
name  as  mine  and  that  the  runaway  pair  left  descend- 
ants, whether  they  ever  married  or  not.  Even  if  I 
am  one  of  their  descendants,  or  if  that  young  fellow 
could  be  traced  back  to  an  ancestor  of  mine,  there 
would  still  be  no  kinship  between  your  son  and  myself, 
as  you  are,  of  course,  aware." 

"  It  is  not  a  blood  relationship,  Mr.  Charaxes,  that  I 
am  trying  to  make  out,  great  as  the  honor  would  be. 


200  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

My  son  is  not  a  Charaxes  because  one  of  that  family 
may  possibly  havo  married  a  kinswoman  of  his  father 
who  lived  two  centuries  ago.  It  is  a  mere  sentiment 
that  leads  me  to  desire  to  learn  \vhether  the  young 
man  who  induced  Henrietta  Gascoigne  to  elope  with 
him  was  of  jonv  name  and  blood,  supposing  either  that 
they  married  or  did  not  marry." 

Charaxes  was  on  the  point  of  asking  what  this  sen- 
timent could  be.  Could  it  be  that  this  lady  had  taken 
up  the  idea  of  his  atoning  in  some  way  for  the  wrong 
that  had  been  done  so  long  ago  to  the  Gascoigne  family  ? 
Eut  although  a  shrewd,  he  was  a  most  considerate  old 
man,  gentle  and  kindly.  He  was  much  disposed  to  like 
Mrs.  Gascoigne, — did  like  her.  If  the  thought  entered 
his  mind  for  an  instant  that  his  wealth  might  have 
something  to  do  with  her  desire  to  make  out  this  con- 
nection, he  dismissed  it  at  once.  She  was  a  lady  in 
every  sense,  and  he  in  every  sense  was  a  gentleman. 
He  accepted  the  idea  of  a  "  sentiment"  as  a  sufficient 
explanation.  He  asked  for  no  further  explanation,  but, 
after  a  short  pause,  in  which  a  calm  seriousness  over- 
spread his  aged  face,  he  said,  "  I  will  tell  you,  madam, 
more  of  my  own  history  than  I  ever  before  related  to 
any  one  in  this  country,  and  something  of  what  I  know 
of  my  father's  family.  You  can  then  judge  whether 
it  is  worth  while  for  you  or  me  to  pursue  this  matter 
of  the  young  Greek  beyond  our  present  conversation." 
He  then  related  as  follows  : 


THE    STORY   OF   JOHN   CHARAXES. 

"My  earliest  recollection  is  of  travelling  on  a  camel 
across  the  great  Syrian  desert  that  stretches  from  the 
Euphrates  towards  the  eastern  coast  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean. I  must  have  been  about  four  3"ears  old.  An 
Arab  woman  rode  with  and  took  care  of  me.  The 
party  consisted  of  a  dozen  men  ;  their  leader  was  a 
sheik,  mounted  on  a  fine  Arabian  horse.  He  and  all 
his  male  followers  were  armed  to  the  teeth.  Whether 
they  were  robbers  or  traders  I  never  knew ;  and  I  was 
too  young  at  the  time  to  know  the  difference,  if  differ- 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN   CHARAXES.  201 

erice  there  was.  I  learned  afterwards  that  the  whole 
object  of  their  expedition  was  to  bring  me  in  safety 
from  a  stronghold  on  the  eastern  border  of  the  desert 
to  Smyrna.  I  conjectured,  as  I  grew  older,  that  they 
took  me  from  my  mother,  and  that  she  was  the  sheik's 
daughter.  But  I  can  remember  nothing  but  my  ride  on 
the  camel  and  one  or  two  of  the  incidents  of  the  jour- 
ney. I  never  learned  with  certainty  who  my  mother 
was.  I  presume  that  there  is  some  Arabian  blood 
in  me,  but  the  strong  characteristics  of  my  father's 
race,  and  the  circumstances  of  my  education  and  early 
life,  made  me  more  G-reek  than  anything  else.  We 
halted  one  noon  at  one  of  those  oases  where  there  is 
always  a  well  of  water,  a  clump  of  fig-trees,  and  some 
coarse  grass  that  affords  very  good  camping-ground. 
What  impressed  this  encampment  on  my  memory  was 
that  I  was  given  some  fresh  figs  and  a  good  draught  of 
water,  and  that  I  slept  Avith  the  Arab  woman  under  a 
tent.  I  remember,  too,  seeing  the  camels  imbibe  their 
stock  of  water  for  the  further  journey.  How  many  days 
it  was  before  we  reached  Smyrna  I  cannot  tell;  but  we 
rode  into  the  court-yard  of  a  large  house ;  the  camel 
knelt  patiently  and  carefully  on  the  pavement ;  I  was 
taken  down  from  his  back  and  carried  into  the  women's 
apartments  by  my  Arab  attendant.  I  do  not  remember 
seeing  the  sheik  or  any  of  his  followers  again.  -In  that 
house  I  remained  until  I  was  seven  years  old.  The 
master  of  the  house  was  a  Jew  merchant,  and,  as  I 
afterwards  learned,  a  correspondent  of  my  father.  I  was 
well  cared  for,  and  I  suppose  I  was  naturally  a  healthy 
child.  At  all  events,  I  do  not  remember  any  serious  ill- 
ness during  my  childhood.  Several  Eastern  languages 
were  spoken  by  the  different  inmates  of  the  house, — 
modern  Greek,  Syriac,  and  Arabic.  I  was  taught  to 
read  them,  and  to  read  Hebrew  also. 

"  In  the  year  1775  my  father  sent  for  me.  I  had  been 
told  about  him,  and  had  learned  that  I  was  the  son  of 
a  Greek  merchant  who  lived  on  the  island  of  Crete  and 
owned  vessels  which  traded  to  Italian  ports.  He  had 
a  brother  who  had  been  for  a  long  time  in  the  Turkish 
civil  service.     This  uncle  of  mine,  who  held  some  posi- 


202  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

tion  in  the  bureau  of  finance  at  the  Porte,  came  to 
Smyrna  on  business  of  the  Turkish  revenue.  He 
brought  letters  from  my  father  to  my  Jewish  protector, 
and  the  result  was  that  arrangements  were  made  for 
my  being  carried  to  my  father  on  the  island  of  Crete. 
He  had  never  seen  me,  but  he  felt  a  natural  desire  to 
recognize  and  provide  for  me.  He  had  two  other 
children  born  in  wedlock ;  for  soon  after  my  birth  he 
married  a  Greek  lady,  according  to  the  rites  of  the 
Greek  Church  and  the  forms  of  law.  By  the  rules  of 
heraldry  the  bar  sinister  ran  broadly  across  my  es- 
cutcheon. My  step-mother,  however, — if  my  father's 
wife  can  be  so  called, — was  a  kind  and  good  woman. 
She  did  not  object  to  receiving  me ;  and  when  I  found 
myself  in  my  father's  house  I  was  treated  by  her  ten- 
derly, and,  in  fact,  no  difference  was  ever  made  between 
me  and  her  own  children.  Two,  as  I  have  said,  were 
born  before  my  arrival :  they  were  both  daughters ; 
there  was  a  son  born  afterwards.  He  was  ten  years 
younger  than  myself. 

"I  was  put  to  school  and  learned  rapidly.  At  an 
early  age  I  was  taken  into  my  father's  counting-house 
and  bred  to  mercantile  business.  I  became  expert  in 
financial  affairs ;  and  before  I  was  twenty  I  knew  the 
history  and  present  situation  of  all  the  important  loans 
in  Europe  and  what  houses  had  dealt  or  were  dealing 
in  them.  In  the  year  1795,  Bonaparte  was  in  Egypt, 
telling  his  soldiers  that  thirty  centuries  looked  down  on 
them  from  the  pyramids.  What  do  the  centuries  or  the 
pyramids  now  care  for  him  or  his  soldiers  ?  But  at  the 
time  he  was  there  the  whole  Eastern  world  was  much 
concerned  about  the  probable  doings  of  the  famous 
Corsican  officer  of  artillery.  It  was  feared  by  many 
intelligent  people  that  he  might  undertake  to  found  an 
Eastern  empire.  He  had  some  dreams  of  that  kind. 
If  he  had  entered  upon  such  a  career  he  would  not 
have  scrupled  to  make  himself  a  Mohammedan  and  a 
representative  of  the  prophet.  His  genius  and  daring 
would  have  found  the  way,  and  his  French  troops 
would  have  followed  him  wherever  he  chose  to  lead 
them.     But  the  Fi-ench  Eevolution  was  just  then  in 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN  CHARAxES.  203 

Buch  a  state  tbat,  after  the  siege  of  Acre,  he  suddenly 
found  it  for  his  interest  to  return  to  France.  It  was 
while  Bonaparte  was  still  in  Syria,  however,  and  there 
was  so  much  anxiety  all  through  that  part  of  the  world, 
that  my  father  thought  it  best  to  send  me  upon  the 
Continent  of  Europe.  He  did  not  intend  to  give  me 
the  rights  of  an  eldest  son  or  to  make  me  his  successor 
in  business ;  but  he  opened  the  way  for  me  to  make  a 
career  for  myself  Through  some  influence  of  his  I 
obtained  a  situation  in  one  of  the  largest  banking- 
houses  in  Yienna.  There  I  remained  for  several  years, 
earning  a  good  salary  and  devoting  a  part  of  it  to  the 
completion  of  my  education.  Although  I  spoke  and 
wrote  many  languages,  Greek,  German,  French,  Eng- 
lish, and  Italian,  my  mercantile  training  had  left  me  no 
opportunities  to  study  any  of  their  literatures,  and  it 
was  almost  wholly  for  business  purposes  that  I  had 
hitherto  used  the  languages  that  I  knew  so  well.  In 
Yienna  I  engaged  the  best  teachers  and  read  a  great 
deal  of  history  and  literature  with  a  learned  German 
professor.  The  bankers  by  whom  I  was  employed  had 
some  connection  with  one  of  the  great  monasteries  in 
Austria,  and  I  used  to  be  occasionally  sent  there  on 
business.  One  of  the  fathers  put  me  in  the  way  of 
studying  the  ancient  classics,  and  from  him  I  learned 
to  speak  Latin.  I  mention  these  things  to  account  for 
the  fact  that,  although  the  active  part  of  my  life  has 
been  passed  in  mercantile  and  financial  business,  I  have 
been  something  of  a  scholar;  enough,  at  least,  to  enjoy 
studies  of  various  kinds  and  to  converse  passably  in  the 
company  of  learned  persons  on  most  subjects ;  although 
I  hope  I  have  been  a  learner  rather  than  a  person  who 
undertakes  to  teach  people  who  know  more  than  he 
does.  When  I  came  to  live  in  this  country  and  brought 
over  my  large  library,  to  which  I  have  been  constantly 
adding,  I  became  a  puzzle  to  the  good  people  among 
whom  I  established  my  residence,  so  that  I  have  passed 
for  I  know  not  what.  But  I  have  never  been  any- 
thing but  a  commercial  man,  a  traveller,  and  a  citizen 
of  the  world,  with  a  propensity  to  read,  observe,  and 
reflect. 


204  JOHN   CHARAxES. 

"  To  return,  however,  to  my  early  life :  By  saving  a 
part  of  my  salar}^  and  investing  my  savings  in  profit- 
able ways,  for  which  I  had  good  opportunities,  I  came 
to  be  possessed  of  a  little  capital,  amounting  to  perhaps 
ten  thousand  dollars  of  your  money.  "With  this  I  trans- 
ferred mj^self  to  Paris,  soon  after  Napoleon  had  so  far 
mastered  the  Eevolution  as  to  become  First  Consul. 
This  was  in  1799.  I  did  not  go  there  with  any  liking 
for  him  or  his  new  government,  and  I  will  tell  you 
presently  how  I  came  to  have  a  strong  dislike  of  both. 
I  went  there  to  make  money.  One  of  the  persons  with 
whom  I  became  intimate  was  that  remarkable  man, 
Count  Pozzo  di  Borgo,  who  was  long  Eussian  ambassa- 
dor at  Paris,  and  was  sometimes  sent  to  England  on 
diplomatic  business.  I  see  that  3'ou  are  ready  to  ask  how 
I  can  expect  you  to  know  anything  about  such  people. 
But  I  do  not  doubt  that,  like  most  American  ladies,  jou. 
have  a  general  knowledge  of  the  history  of  the  French 
Revolution  and  of  the  first  Napoleon  ?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Charaxes,"  said  Isabel,  interrupting  the 
old  gentleman's  narrative,  '-'I  am  the  daughter  of  a 
Boston  merchant  who,  in  his  early  life,  suffered  in  his 
fortune  in  consequence  of  some  of  the  doings  of  the 
emperor,  and  I  remember  to  have  heard  him  describe 
how  our  commerce  was  afifected  by  them.  I  have,  too, 
inherited  from  him  some  of  those  '  French  spoliation 
claims'  which  I  understand  ought  to  be  paid  by  our  own 
government,  and  have  formerly  tried  to  understand 
these  matters,  but  I  have  now  left  them  to  my  lawyer, 
and  ceased  to  trouble  myself  about  them.  I  have,  as 
you  suppose,  a  general  idea  of  the  events  in  the  life 
of  the  first  Napoleon,  having  read  the  chief  histories 
of  that  period.  But  I  have  no  definite  idea  of  the 
Count  Pozzo  di  Borgo  of  whom  you  speak.  Tell  me, 
if  you  please,  about  him." 

"  I  was  not  about  to  explain  to  you,"  resumed  Cha- 
raxes, "  the  mysteries  of  the  Berlin  and  Milan  decrees 
and  the  English  Orders  in  Council,  which  doubtless 
caused  your  father  to  lose  ships  and  cargoes.  As  .you 
say,  it  is  best  to  leave  those  affairs  to  the  lawyers,  who, 
on  the  coming  in  of  the  Greek  Kalends,  may  get  some- 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN  CHARAxES.  205 

thing  out  of  them  and  will,  perhaps,  give  you  a  share. 
But  of  that  other  Corsican,  Di  Borgo,  who  had  an  hered- 
itary hatred  of  his  compatriot,  I  can  tell  you  a  great 
deal  that  might  amuse  you  and  that  belongs  to  this 
little  narrative  of  my  own  life.  Some  one  has  said, 
that  he  who  writes  or  relates  the  small  details  of  his 
own  life  is  guilty  of  a  very  pretty  vanity ;  and  this 
vanity  he  softens  into  a  mode  of  transmitting  to  others 
the  theory  of  the  universe  which  one  carries  within 
one's  self.     Is  not  that  very  fine  ?" 

Isabel  laughed  as  she  answered,  "Yes,  sir,  it  is  an 
excellent  description  of  a  certain  kind  of  egotism.  But 
if  we  undertake  to  give  any  account  of  ourselves,  what 
but  our  theory  of  the  universe  is  it  that  we  can  give  ? 
The  egotism  does  not  become  vanity  unless  we  put 
forward  our  theory  of  the  universe  as  the  absolute 
truth  which  w^e  alone  have  discovered." 

"You  are  quite  right.  Your  gloss  on  the  saying 
which  I  repeated  is  as  good  as  the  remark  itself.  I 
thought  your  woman's  wit  would  find  for  me  an  excuse 
for  mingling  my  own  small  adventures  with  the  history 
of  the  great  diplomatist,  Di  Borgo."  Here  the  gray 
eyes  twinkled  again  for  an  instant,  and  then  he  went 
on  soberly  with  his  narrative,  in  an  easy  flow,  as  if  he 
had  secured  all  the  right  that  he  needed  to  speak  of 
himself  without  restraint. 

"  When  I  came  to  Paris  I  brought  letters  to  the 
count  from  persons  in^Yienna  who  thought  that  my 
knowledge  of  financial  affairs  would  enable  me  to  be 
useful  to  him.  He  was  not  a  man  eager  to  become  rich ; 
and  indeed  his  ample  allowances  from  the  Eussian  gov- 
ernment made  it  unnecessary  for  him  to  seek  wealth 
for  himself.  But  he  was  engaged  in  the  negotiation  of 
treaties  that  involved  great  monetary  arrangements, 
and  in  these  matters  he  often  employed  me.  He  soon 
gave  me  his  entire  confidence,  and  I  was  more  than 
once  sent  by  him  on  secret  errands  to  London  and  St. 
Petersburg.  On  these  occasions  I  had  excellent  oppor- 
tunities for  investing  and  reinvesting  my  own  money. 
I  was  in  Paris  when  the  great  European  settlement  in 
1815  consigned  Bonaparte  to  the  island  of  Elba.    I  was 

18 


206  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

there  when  he  landed  from  Elba  and  the  Bourbons 
fled.  I  believed  that  Napoleon's  'destiny'  had  con- 
cluded to  lead  hira  to  his  final  ruin.  It  was  no  sur- 
prise and  no  grief  to  me  that  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
beat  him  at  Waterloo,  and  when  he  was  sent  to  St. 
Helena  I  thought  France  and  Europe  had  met  with  a 
great  deliverance.  To  be  sure,  this  was  a  proceeding 
that  could  only  be  justified  by  an  overruling  interna- 
tional necessity ;  for  undoubtedly  when  I^apoleon  went 
on  board  the  English  frigate  '  Bellerophon'  he  did  not 
surrender  himself  to  the  arbitrary  disposal  of  the  Brit- 
ish government.  The  only  excuse  that  can  be  made  for 
them  is  that  he  had  proved  to  be  a  person  whom  no 
treaties  could  bind. 

"  In  all  these  aifairs  Count  Pozzo  worked  incessantly, 
and  I  aided  him.  But  during  the  Hundred  Days,  and 
all  through  the  succeeding  perilous  times,  I  was  never 
disturbed  by  the  police,  even  when  it  was  controlled 
by  that  arch-scoundrel,  Fouche.  I  kept  steadily  on, 
amassing  a  fortune  by  perfectly  obvious  means;  and 
this  brings  me  to  the  object  for  which  I  desired  to  be 
rich  ;  for  according  to  that  '  theory  of  the  universe' 
of  which  we  were  speaking  just  now,  every  man  ought 
to  be  able  to  explain  the  chief  object  at  which  he  aims. 
I  had  studied  a  great  deal  the  ancient  philosophy  of 
that  remarkable  people  from  whom  the  modern  Greeks 
are  descended.  Notwithstanding  the  activity  and  bustle 
of  the  earlier  part  of  my  life,  I  became  fascinated  Avith 
the  idea  of  what  Demokritus  is  traditionally  supposed 
to  have  taught,  the  summum  bonum.  This  was  the  ac- 
quisition and  maintenance  of  mental  serenity  and  con- 
tentment, for  which  he  is  said  to  have  advised  a  life  of 
tranquil  contemplation,  to  be  pursued  aside  from  money- 
making,  or  ambition,  or  the  excitements  of  pleasure. 
This,  however,  in  modern  society,  is  not  attainable  as 
Demokritus  recommended,  or  at  least  it  was  not  in  my 
case.  I  felt  no  spur  of  ambition,  and  I  could  abstain 
from  the  grosser  pleasures,  but  I  could  not  do  without 
money,  for  without  it  I  could  not  attain  to  the  tran- 
quillity of  a  life  of  contemplation.  I  therefore  sought 
for  wealth,  not  as  an  end  but  as  a  means ;  and  at  about 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN  CHARAXES.  207 

the  time  when  I  came  to  this  country  I  seemed  to 
myself  to  be  possessed  of  everything  needful  for  the 
kind  of  life  which  I  wished  to  lead  for  the  remainder 
of  my  days.  But  I  have  not  fully  realized  my  plan, 
because  the  attachments  which  I  formed  for  the  friends 
with  whom  I  have  now  lived  so  long  since  I  settled  in 
your  great  republic,  the  interest  I  have  taken  in  their 
welfare,  and  the  influence  on  their  happiness  which  the 
fortunes  of  their  country  must  have,  have  somewhat 
broken  in  upon  my  projected  serenitj^  Still,  I  hope 
that  I  have  escaped  the  selfishness  that  must  in  a  large 
degree  incrust  the  state  of  mind  that  the  most  subtle 
of  the  ancients,  as  Seneca  calls  Demokritus,  considered 
as  the  supreme  felicity.  But  this  is  an  unpardonable 
amount  of  the  egotism  of  which  we  were  speaking,  even 
if  it  escapes  the  vanity.  The  only  excuse  for  it  is  that 
you,  madam,  have  drawn  it  out." 

The  old  man  here  paused,  as  if  this  brief  outline  of 
his  life  were  all  that  he  supposed  would  interest  his 
listener.  She,  however,  wished  to  learn  more.  "  I  do 
not  know  much,"  she  said,  "  about  Demokritus,  but  I 
remember  the  character  of  Imlac  in  Dr.  Johnson's 
'  Easselas,'  which  I  read  in  my  school-days  for  the  sake 
of  the  story.  You  seem  to  me  to  be  a  sort  of  Imlac  in 
modern  European  life,  thrown  into  our  Western  world. 
But  now,  let  me  ask  you,  sir,  if  you  never  married  ?" 
and  then  she  added,  with  a  smile  at  her  own  question, 
"did  you  consider  that  marriage  would  interfere  with 
the  sumnmm  bonum  f " 

"  Ah,  celibacy  has  been  perhaps  the  mistake  of  my  life. 
I  thought  so  for  some  time,  but  then  I  have  always  been 
reluctant  to  marry,  because  I  really  had  no  country,  and 
a  country  and  a  family  ought  to  go  together.  Until  I 
made  my  fortune,  I  was  too  busy  to  marry.  When  I 
had  accomplished  this  great  object,  I  travelled  over  the 
whole  of  Europe  and  visited  the  scenes  where  my  child- 
hood and  youth  had  been  passed.  But  I  became  tired 
of  this  roving  life,  and  went  to  live  for  a  time  in  Switzer- 
land, at  Lausanne  and  Geneva.  While  I  was  residing 
at  Geneva  I  conceived  a  strong  desire  to  see  America. 
The  fund  of  experience  and  observation  that  I  had  ac- 


208  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

cumulated,  my  knowledge  of  various  kinds,  my  habit 
of  studying  institutions  and  manners,  led  me  to  this 
country,  where  I  looked,  however,  for  nothing  but  a 
life  of  tranquil  enjoyment.  I  had  no  intention  of  be- 
coming an  American  citizen, — still  less  of  taking  any 
part  in  public  affairs.  I  had  been  all  my  life  a  mere 
cosmopolite,  a  character  that  is  not  easily  shaken  off. 
Chance  led  me  to  fix  my  residence  in  Detroit,  and  it 
was  an  accident  that  led  me  to  know  Mr.  Brewster  and 
his  family.  I  have  lived  in  close  intimacy  with  them 
for  more  than  twenty  years.  I  have  found  in  them  all 
that  I  could  desire  in  friendship ;  so  that  I  do  not  re- 
gret my  celibacy,  for  there  are  some  natures  for  whom 
friendship  is  better  than  love.  Margaret  Brewster  is 
nearly  the  same  to  me  as  if  she  were  my  own  child ; 
yet  I  have  not  the  responsibility  of  a  parent  for  her  lot 
in  life." 

"  She  seems,"  said  Isabel,  "  to  be  a  young  lady  of  a 
great  deal  of  character." 

"  Indeed  she  is,  and  her  mother  was  one  of  the 
loveliest  women  I  have  ever  known." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Brewster  die  young  ?" 

"  When  Margaret  was  only  two  years  old.  She  has 
been  educated  by  her  aunt,  with  such  teachers  as  were 
needful  and  could  be  employed  at  home.  I  have  had 
something  to  do  with  the  development  of  her  mind, 
but  her  character  has  been  formed  by  Miss  Brewster, 
so  far  as  nature  and  fine  inherited  qualities  needed  to 
be  assisted." 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  spoken  of  this  young 
lady.  I  wished  to  say  to  you — may  I,  Mr.  Charaxes, 
confess  to  you  the  dearest  wish  that  a  mother  can 
have?  My  son  is  four-and-twenty.  He  has  been  a 
favorite  among  the  young  women  of  our  society,  but 
he  has  never  lost  his  heart  to  any  of  them.  I  can  see 
now — although  I  have  never  yet  spoken  to  him  about 
her — that  he  is  in  love  with  your  young  friend.  He 
has  known  her,  it  is  true,  for  only  four  weeks,  but 
they  have  been  thrown  together  a  good  deal,  and  I 
suppose  he  has  made  or  tried  to  make  the  most  of  his 
opportunities.     Can   you   be  surprised   that   I   should 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN  CHARAxES.  209 

feel  a  strong  desire  for  j^our  sympathy  in  a  matter 
that  concerns  the  happiness  and  welfare  of  an  only 
son  and  only  child  ?" 

"Not  in  the  least;  but  I  fear  your  son  will  meet 
with  disappointment  in  his  suit.  Margaret  Brewster 
is  a  girl  —  I  fear  I  shall  wound  you  —  she  is  a  girl 
whose  ideal  is  very  high.  The  man  who  is  to  win  her 
affections  must  be " 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  interrupt  you,  sir.  I  know  what 
you  would  say,  and  I  will  not  ask  you  to  be  more 
explicit.  But  have  you  never  observed  that  the  influ- 
ence of  such  a  woman  is  sometimes  very  powerful  in 
developing  a  man  who  loves  her  truly,  and  in  raising 
him  to  her  own  level,  or  even  higher?  Your  expe- 
rience must  have  made  you  acquainted  with  such 
cases?" 

"  Yes,  that  has  sometimes  happened,  and  sometimes 
the  influence  has  fallen  short  of  that  result,  and  there 
has  been  an  ill-assorted  union  and  very  little  happi- 
ness." 

"  But  what  if  the  influence  should  be  allowed  to 
work  its  way  before  marriage  ?  No  great  peril  is  then 
incurred  by  the  lady.  The  man  is  the  one  who  takes 
all  the  risk,  and  the  result  may  be  the  formation  in 
him  of  a  character  that  would  come  up  to  the  ideal 
which  the  woman  has  cherished,  and  there  may  be  a 
happy  union." 

"  I  do  not  feel  so  sure  that  in  such  cases  the  woman 
takes  no  risk.  If  she  be  quite  young,  she  may  be  in 
doubt  about  her  own  demeanor.  But,  supposing  such 
a  case  as  you  seem  to  have  in  mind,  it  might  require  a 
long  time  and  extraordinarily  favoring  circumstances, 
even  supposing  that  no  rival  should  appear,  to  reach 
the  result  which  you  have  imagined.  I  sincerely  hope 
that  it  may  turn  out  as  you  wish.  But  I  am  speaking 
of  another  man's  child,  and  of  a  young  woman  whom 
I  should  never  think  of  trying  to  influence.  That 
would  be  out  of  my  province." 

"Influence,  my  dear  sir,   from  any  quarter,  is  not 
what   I   would   desire.      I   only   meant   to    ask   your 
opinion  about  our  continuing  longer  in  the  society  of 
o  18* 


210  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

your  friends.  My  visit  to  Niagara  must  be  governed 
entirely  by  Avhat  is  best  for  my  son." 

"  I  can  see  no  good  reason  why  you  should  not 
extend  your  tour  to  the  Falls.  Tour  son,  since  he  is, 
as  you  think,  attached  to  this  young  lady,  will  follow 
her  to  her  home  sooner  or  later,  and  it  matters  not 
where  the  denouement  may  take  place.  Her  father  and 
her  aunt  will  be  with  her,  wherever  she  is,  and  it  is 
for  them  to  guard  her  against  any  risk,  if  she  needs  any 
guardianship.  But  now,  what  are  your  wishes  in  re- 
gard to  the  name  of  the  3'oung  Greek  who  is  supposed 
to  have  run  away  with  that  far-off  kinswoman  of  your 
husband?  If  we  should  find  that  he  was  of  my  name 
and  blood,  of  which  there  can  be  but  a  slender  chance, 
it  would  add  nothing  to  the  interest  that  I  must  feel 
in  your  son,  now  that  he  is  so  much  attached  to  Mar- 
garet that  he  will  probably  endeavor  to  become  her 
accepted  lover.  I  think  we  had  better  let  that  matter 
of  the  G-reek  adventurer  drop." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Charaxes,  I  will  not  now  ask  you  to 
pursue  that  search,  although  I  have  been  mysteriously 
influenced  for  years  by  a  vague  wish  to  learn  the  name 
of  that  person  ;  and  it  was  this  that  made  me  anxious 
to  know  something  of  your  own  history.  May  I  ask 
if  you  expect  to  remain  in  this  countrj"  always  ?" 

"  Yes,  so  far  as  I  can  foresee,  because  I  have  no  coun- 
try of  my  own,  and  because  I  feel  much  solicitude  about 
the  future  of  this  country  and  the  welfare  of  the  friends 
who  are  so  dear  to  me.  There  is,  I  fear,  trouble  in 
store  for  the  people  of  the  United  States.  I  do  not 
foresee  when  or  how  the  storm  will  burst,  but  I  have 
watched  the  gathering  of  the  clouds  with  great  anxiety. 
I  have  not  transferred  much  of  my  property  to  this 
country,  and  if  what  I  apprehend  shall  come  about,  I 
shall  think  my  prudence  was  not  ill-judged." 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  things  are  so  threatening  ? 
Might  it  not  be  well  for  a  woman  situated  as  I  am  to 
put  a  part  of  her  fortune  where  it  will  not  be  exposed 
to  the  consequences  of  such  a  disturbance  as  you  seem 
to  anticipate  ?" 

"  No,  I  would  not  advise  it.     Every  American,  man 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN  CHARAxES.  211 

or  woman,  should  abide  by  the  fortunes  of  the  countiy  ; 
and,  moreover,  you  could  not  find  any  better  situation 
for  your  wealth,  if  you  have  wealth,  tban  it  is  probably 
now  in." 

''AH  the  fortune  that  I  have,  Mr.  Charaxes,  was  in- 
herited from  a  father  who  was  entirely  American  in 
spirit  and  in  life.  For  my  English  connections  I  have 
long  ceased  to  care,  in  reference  to  the  remainder  of 
m}'  own  life,  or  in  reference  to  my  son.  It  was  an 
episode  of  my  early  days,  and  not  altogether  a  happy 
one.  I  am  now  as  thoroughly  patriotic  as  a  woman  can 
be.  But  what  is  it  that  you  fear  for  our  hitherto  happy 
country  ?     Tell  me  the  worst  of  your  apprehensions." 

"  The  worst  that  I  apprehend  is  nothing  less  than 
civil  war.  But  if  that  should  happen,  it  will  be  a  war 
of  a  territorial  character,  between  the  two  great  sec- 
tions of  the  country,  and  not  one  in  which  communities 
will  be  divided  into  hostile  and  warring  factions.  So 
far,  therefore,  women  as  well  as  men  will  probably 
suffer  only  such  evils  as  would  attend  a  foreign  war."  ^ 

"  But  the  very  idea  of  war  is  so  shocking,  and  civil 
war,  too  !     Can  nothing  be  done  to  avert  it  ?" 

"  Much  could  be  done,  but  I  doubt  if  anything  effectual 
will  be.  There  is  too  much  passion  already  enlisted  on 
both  sides,  and  there  is  too  little  wisdom.  I  do  not  see 
a  single  man  in  public  life  in  this  country  to-day  of  suf- 
ficient force  of  character  and  possessing  sufficient  influ- 
ence to  control  the  discordant  elements.  The  great  re- 
public seems  to  be  drifting  upon  the  rocks,  with  no  one 
at  the  helm  to  guide  her  out  of  danger.  But  let  us  talk 
no  more  on  a  painful  subject.  I  have  told  you  of  the 
acquisitions  in  friendship  that  I  made  after  I  came  to 
this  great  land.  Allow  me  to  say  that  I  have  now  made 
another.     Will  you  not  join  us  at  IS'iagara  ?" 

"  I  will  think  of  it,  Mr.  Charaxes,  and  you  must  now 
allow  me  to  express  my  warmest  gratitude  for  your 
kindness  and  confidence." 

"  You  know  Lord  Chatham's  saying,  '  Confidence  is 
a  plant  of  slow  growth  in  aged  bosoms.'  In  this  case 
it  has  grown  rapidly,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  not  mis- 
placed." 


212  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

To  say  kind  things  in  a  kind  and  sincere  way  was 
one  of  this  old  man's  many  attractions.  He  sat  awhile 
longer,  watching  Mrs.  G-ascoigne's  needle,  which  she 
did  not  keep  entirely  still.  Then  he  suddenly  looked 
at  the  clock  on  the  mantel.     Isabel  said, — 

"  Pray  do  not  go,  Mr.  Charaxes,  but  permit  me  to 
ask  you  one  other  question,  since  you  have  so  kindly 
taken  me  into  your  confidence.  Having  no  family, 
what  made  you  wish  for  wealth  beyond  your  personal 
necessities  ?" 

"  You  must  let  me  answer  that  by  telling  a  story. 
You  have  heard  of  my  ancient  countryman,  Xeno- 
phon  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  think  our  school-books  told  us  that  he 
was  the  soldier-historian  of  ancient  Greece.  When  did 
he  flourish  ?" 

"  About  400  B.C.  He  had  at  one  time  high  com- 
mand in  the  armies  of  the  Lacedaemonians.  When  he 
retired  from  that  service  he  was  possessed  of  a  consider- 
able share  of  the  plunder  gained  in  those  wars.  With 
a  portion  of  this  money  he  purchased  a  landed  estate 
at  the  town  of  Skillus,  near  Olympia.  He  dedicated 
this  property  to  the  goddess  Artemis,  constituting  him- 
self custodian  or  trustee  of  it,  for  the  perpetual  service 
of  the  goddess,  and  providing  for  successors  in  the 
trust.  In  humble  imitation  of  this  scheme,  I  dedicated 
my  fortune — you  are  entitled  to  smile — to  the  goddess 
Philosophy.     Was  it  not  a  very  pretty  plan  of  life  ?" 

Isabel  was  so  much  amused  by  this  banter  that  she 
thought  she  would  repay  the  old  gentleman  in  his  own 
coin. 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  are  doubtless  a  very  fit  person  to 
be  the  first  trustee  of  such  an  endowment;  but  where 
do  you  expect  to  find  a  successor  in  the  trust?" 

"  There  is  some  difficulty  there.  I  manage  very 
well  so  long  as  I  administer,  but  about  a  successor  I 
feel  at  times  some  misgiving.  I  have  known  a  great 
many  men  who  have  accumulated  wealth,  and  who, 
finding  that  they  must  go  away  and  leave  it  behind 
them,  have  honestly  tried  to  do  some  good  with  it,  but 
have  utterly  failed.     Perhaps  I  shall  add  another  to 


THE  STORY  OF  JOHN  CHARAXES.  218 

the  catalogue.  But,  really,  I  am  encroaching  on  your 
half-hour  before  dinner,  sacred  always  to  the  mysteries 
of  the  toilet." 

Whereupon  he  arose,  and  with  an  au  revoir,  uttered 
with  exquisitely  simple  urbanity,  he  bowed  himself 
out.  There  is  nothing  like  fine  manners  in  an  old 
man  who  has  seen  much  of  the  world.  And  what  is 
there  that  is  so  captivating  as  age,  when  it  is  adorned 
by  wisdom,  knowledge,  and  a  sweet  temper  ? 

James  came  in  soon  after.  His  mother  asked  him 
how  he  had  spent  the  forenoon.  "  Stupidly  enough," 
he  said.  "  I  have  been  seeing  a  lot  of  New-Yorkers 
play  a  billiard  match :  that  is  all.  The  ladies  (he  did 
not  say  what  ladies)  have  not  been  visible.  Have  you 
been  here  all  the  morning?" 

"  Yes,  but  not  alone.  I  have  had  a  long  visit  from 
Mr.  Charaxes.  He  has  quite  urged  our  going  to  Ni- 
agara.    What  do  you  say  to  it  ?" 

"I  should  like  it  of  all  things.  You  know  I  have 
never  seen  Niagara.  When  do  the  old  gentleman  and 
the  Brewsters  leave  Saratoga?" 

"  I  believe  very  soon." 

For  a  few  moments  nothing  more  was  said.  Isabel 
went  on  with  her  needle- work  ;  but  presently  she  laid 
it  aside,  and,  going  to  the  couch  where  James  had 
thrown  "his  listless  length,"  she  knelt  by  him,  and, 
putting  her  arm  around  his  neck,  she  whispered,  "  Tell 
me,  dearest,  are  you  in  love  with  Margaret  Brewster?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  mamma,  whether  I  am  or  not." 
She  pressed  him  to  her  heart,  waiting  for  him  to  say 
more. 

"  She  seems  at  times,"  he  at  length  said,  "to  like  me, 
but  I  cannot  quite  make  her  out.  I  have  talked  with 
her  a  great  deal.  She  is  very  interesting,  but  she  has 
ideas  about  life  that  are  so  lofty, — I  doubt  if  I  should 
be  successful  if  I  were  to  try." 

"  Dear  boy,  you  know  the  old  adage,  '  faint  heart 
never  won '  If  you  love  this  girl,  trust  to  the  in- 
fluence of  a  steady  and  strong  affection." 

He  was  again  silent  for  some  time.  His  mother 
caressed   him  with  infinite  tenderness,  smoothing  the 


214  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

hair  back  from  his  forehead  with  her  beautiful  hand. 
Soon  he  turned  and  clung  to  her,  faltering  out,  with 
strong  emotion,  "  My  own  dear  mother,  I  can  keep 
nothing  from  you.  I  do  love  her,  but  I  have  no  hope. 
I  seem  to  be  no  nearer " 

"Wait,  darling,  and  watch  for  some  sign  that  will 
give  you  courage  to  speak.  We  will  go  to  Niagara, 
for  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  both  Mr. 
Charaxes  and  Miss  Brewster  sincerely  wish  to  see 
more  of  us." 

With  this  understanding,  after  they  had  both  become 
more  composed,  James  left  his  mother  to  dress  for  din- 
ner, and  went  to  his  room  to  make  his  own  toilet.  I 
do  not  know  if  my  old  friend  Henry  Brewster  would 
have  felt  flattered  if  he  could  have  known  how  little 
embarrassment  Mrs.  Gascoigne  was  likely  to  feel  in  his 
company.  Yet  he  was  likely  to  feel  as  little  in  her 
society,  for  all  his  remaining  tenderness  was  now  cen- 
tred in  his  daughter,  as  hers  was  in  her  son.  The 
difference  between  them  was  that  she  longed  to  take 
to  her  heart  the  young  woman  whom  she  now  knew 
that  her  son  loved ;  but  whether  Brewster's  could  warm 
towards  the  young  man  was  somewhat  doubtful.  There 
were  many  obstacles.  Will  they  ever  be  overcome  ? 
Will  the  fact  that  he  was  the  son  of  Isabel  Bradshaw 
be  an  invincible  difficulty  ?  With  some  men,  still 
capable  at  fifty  of  feeling  the  romance  of  such  a  con- 
nection, there  might  have  been  a  charm  in  it.  Whether 
this  will  be  the  case  with  Brewster  I  will  not  predict 
at  the  close  of  this  chapter. 


''THE   COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE.''  215 

CHAPTEE  XIY. 
"the  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth." 

Mr.  Brewster  had  been  called  home  on  business  be- 
fore Mrs.  Gascoigne  and  her  son  arrived  at  Niagara. 
Mr.  Charaxes,  Miss  Brewster,  and  Margaret  remained. 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  thought  it  best  not  to  go  to  the  same 
hotel,  but  she  and  James  took  rooms  on  the  Canada 
side,  the  party  from  Detroit  being  at  one  of  the  princi- 
pal hotels  on  the  American  side.  James  lost  no  time 
in  calling  upon  them,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  Mr. 
Charaxes  came  over  to  see  his  mother.  This  visit  to 
Niagara  had  been  deftly  planned  by  the  old  philosopher 
for  two  purposes, — he  wished  to  enjoy  more  of  Mrs. 
Gascoigne's  society,  and  to  afford  James  an  opportunity 
to  see  Margaret  again.  Although  Miss  Brewster  had 
made  no  effort  to  learn  Margaret's  feelings  towards 
James,  she  was  quite  aware  how  matters  stood;  but 
she^  was  too  wise  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Gascoigne  on  the 
subject,  so  that  the  latter  lady  had  only  her  own 
thoughts  and  hopes  to  commune  with,  watching  silently 
and  anxiously  for  the  result  on  which  so  much  depended. 

"Well,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Charaxes,  as  he  greeted 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  with  all  his  graceful  cordialit}',  "  you 
are  arrived,  according  to  your  promise.  Now  let  me 
lay  out  a  little  programme.  I  find  that  on  the  Ameri- 
can side  the  proprietors  of  every  spot  where  there  can 
be  an}^  possible  view  of  the  Falls  have  enclosed  the 
ground  and  charge  money  for  standing  on  it.  But  I 
have  taken  the  precaution  to  gratify  their  greed  by 
buying  the  right  to  go  where  1  please  with  as  many 
friends  as  I  choose  to  take  with  me.  To  be  sure,  it  is 
most  absurd  for  people  to  charge  a  price  for  standing 
or  sitting  on  spots  that  can  be  used  for  no  profit  in  any 
other  way ;  but  it  is  not  worth  while  to  quarrel  with 
what  you  cannot  help.  At  some  time  or  other  the 
governments  on  both  sides  of  this  wonderful  cataract 


216  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

must  take  possession  of  the  land  and  lay  out  suitable 
parks.  At  present,  as  the  public  road  on  this  side  skirts 
the  Falls,  visitors  are  not  so  much  annoyed  by  the  de- 
mands of  private  owners  of  the  land.  From  the  ve- 
randa of  this  hotel,  too,  there  is,  as  you  have  already 
found,  a  fine  view.-  The  ladies  will  be  over  in  an  hour 
or  so,  and  I  propose  that  we  pass  the  day  on  this  side, 
dining  in  the  evening  at  this  hotel,  and  doing  the 
American  side  hereafter.  Perhaps  you  will  prefer  to 
sit  still  and  gaze  and  think,  and  may  not  find  conversa- 
tion desirable  ?" 

"Why  can  we  not  do  both,  Mr.  Charaxes  ?"  asked 
Isabel.  "  We  are  none  of  us  pressed  for  time,  and,  if 
we  wish  to  say  anything,  we  can  say  it." 

"Yery  well;  but  as  I  have  heretofore  passed  many 
hours  here  alone,  and  as  I  have  rather  a  propensity  to 
talk  when  I  have  any  one  to  talk  to,  1  may  not  be  silent 
when  I  ought  to  be." 

''  Give  yourself  no  concern,  my  dear  sir,  about  me.  I 
shall  always  be  happy  to  listen  to  you,  and  will  not  be 
more  abstracted  than  I  can  help." 

In  a  short  time  Miss  Brewster  and  Margaret,  accom- 
panied by  James,  joined  them ;  and  Mr.  Charaxes  ordered 
chairs  to  be  placed  at  the  spot  which  commands  the 
best  view  of  both  the  Falls  and  the  rapids  on  the  Ca- 
nadian side.  The  sun  was  unclouded  and  the  tempera- 
ture very  warm ;  but  they  could  shade  themselves  by 
umbrellas.  At  first,  they  watched  the  ceaseless  plunge 
of  that  immense  volume  of  waters  into  the  abyss  below 
in  perfect  silence.  Charaxes  was  entirelj^  rigbt  in  say- 
ing that  no  one  can  adequately  describe  that  spectacle; 
and  probabl}"  the  reason  is,  that  no  one  capable  of  feel- 
ing its  sublimity  ever  looked  upon  it  without  an  awe 
that  can  have  no  expression  in  words.  At  length  the 
old  gentleman  said, — 

"  I  have  seen  the  ocean  many  times  when  lashed  into 
a  fury  in  which  nothing  afloat  upon  it  could  appar- 
ently escape  destruction;  but,  as  I  never  was  wrecked, 
and  this  has  been  the  experience  of  many  thousands, 
it  may  be  that  we  accustom  ourselves  to  feel  that  we 
have  a  power  which  the  ocean  cannot  overcome  when 


''THE   COURSE   OF  TRUE  LOVE.''  217 

we  exert  it  rightly.  But  here  all  thought  of  resistance 
must  be  given  up  as  soon  as  we  imagine  ourselves  afloat 
on  those  tumbling  and  foaming  rapids.  It  reminds  me 
of  that  remorseless  Destiny  which  in  our  old  Greek 
tragedies  was  represented  as  anterior  and  superior  to 
all  human  and  all  divine  power;  against  which  struggle 
was  useless,  and  which  swept  its  victims  to  sure  de- 
struction." 

"  Why,"  asked  Margaret,  "  has  not  public  authority 
interfered  to  prevent  the  barbarity  of  putting  live  ani- 
mals upon  vessels  and  letting  them  drift  over  the  cata- 
ract? I  have  read  such  accounts  with  perfect  horror. 
I  do  not  think  that  if  such  a  thing  were  to  occur  here 
now,  before  our  eyes,  that  I  could  possibly  look  at  it." 

"  I  am  sure  you  could  not,  my  dear,"  said  Charaxes. 
*'But  public  authority  has  not  yet  learned,  anywhere, 
to  draw  the  line  between  things  which  a  true  civilization 
ought  to  forbid  and  those  which  must  be  left  to  indi- 
vidual liberty.  This  may  be  looked  for  hereafter,  but 
it  is  not  yet  reached.  Perhaps  a  Spanish  bull-fight  is 
the  most  absurd  and  cruel  spectacle  that  can  be  seen  in 
any  modern  country  calling  itself  civilized.  But  what 
is  an  English  prize-fight?  And  what  are  hundreds  of 
practices  that  exist  in  all  countries?  Some  day,  in  the 
most  advanced  nations,  there  will  be  a  more  complete 
tenderness  for  the  lives  of  men  and  animals  than  there 
is  now." 

"  But  what  do  you  sa}^,  sir,"  asked  Miss  Brewster, 
"  to  the  plea  that  courage  and  fortitude  and  skill  are 
cultivated  by  some  of  the  practices  to  which  you  refer  ?" 

"  It  is  a  very  old  plea,"  answered  Charaxes,  "  and  in 
most  cases  a  very  unsound  one.  I  suppose  that  the 
future  civilization  will  recognize  two  truths, — that  all 
animal  life  exists  by  the  will  of  the  Creator,  and  that 
the  life  of  no  animal  whatever  is  to  be  taken  except 
from  some  necessity  or  expediency,  which  arises  out  of 
the  superior  claims  and  welfare  of  some  higher  order 
of  beings ;  and  that  human  life  is  never  to  be  taken, 
excepting  in  the  administration  of  justice,  or  in  wars 
conducted  by  public  authority,  or  in  absolute  self-de- 
fence. But,  two  of  these  occasions  I  presume  will  be' 
K  19 


218  JOHN  charAxes. 

greatly  modified.  I  doubt  if  the  death-penalty  for 
crime  will  always  continue  to  be  inflicted,  unless  in 
very  rare  cases,  and  I  suppose  that  wars  will  give  place 
to  some  other  method  of  settling  international  disputes." 

"  But  in  the  present  age  of  the  world,"  said  Margaret, 
''  is  it  not  true  that  war  develops  very  high  forms  of 
character?  Among  all  the  discussions  that  I  have  read, 
in  which  the  subject  has  been  treated,  I  do  not  remem- 
ber any  writer  but  Dr.  Channing  w^ho  has  questioned 
the  tendency  of  war  to  form  men  of  the  highest  quali- 
ties." 

"  I  do  not  question  it,  either,"  said  Charaxes  ;  "  but 
what  I  say  is  that  war,  while  it  is  a  sphere  of  indi- 
vidual action  that  may  produce  very  lofty  specimens 
of  human  character,  may  and  often  does  produce  char- 
acters of  a  much  lower  grade.  At  the  same  time,  I  do 
not  condemn  all  wars,  in  the  present  state  of  the  world, 
and  if  your  country,  as  I  fear  may  happen,  should  have 
the  af&iction  of  a  civil  war,  I  should  certainly  expect 
and  desire  to  see  your  best  men  put  forth  all  their 
energies  on  what  they  deem  the  true  side." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Charaxes,  let  us  change  the  subject,"  said 
Mrs.  Gascoigne.  "  Do  you  see  how  narrow  the  gorge 
is  through  which  these  waters  come  rushing  down  to 
the  rapids  compared  to  the  volume  of  waters  perpetu- 
ally passing  between  the  banks  ?  Have  any  efforts 
been  made  to  measure  the  space  that  must  have  been 
opened  by  some  great  convulsion  to  let  through  the 
waters  of  the  lakes  ?" 

"!N"o,  it  is  all  at  present,  so  far  as  I  know,  a  matter 
of  conjecture.  Whether  there  was  some  great  con- 
vulsion that  tore  open  this  passage,  or  whether  it  was 
worn  slowly  by  the  water  itself;  whether  the  Falls  at 
one  side  of  which  we  now  sit  were  in  ages  past  lower 
down  and  the  cataract  has  receded  westward,  geolo- 
gists have  not  yet  given  us  satisfactory  means  for  a 
guess.  There  are  indications  that  would  support  either 
theory.  But  one  thing  is  palpably  plain, — that  all  the 
enormous  body  of  water  in  the  lakes  that  is  not  evap- 
orated from  the  surface  is  poured  over  this  cataract ; 
and,  so  far  as  my  travels  have  extended,  it  is  the  most 


^'THE   COURSE   OF  TRUE   LOVE/'  219 

impressive  exhibition  of  power  in  action  that  nature 
makes  anywhere  upon  this  globe.  The  power  is  not 
only  stupendous,  but  its  manifestation  never  ceases. 
If  we  could  get  outside  of  our  globe  and  from  a  station- 
ary point  observe  its  revolution  on  its  axis,  or  its  rapid 
whirl  around  the  sun,  we  should  see  the  same  kind  of 
manifestation  on  a  larger  scale.  Moving  water,  in  a 
vast  quantity  and  ceaseless  flow,  is  perhaps  the  greatest 
exhibition  of  the  force  of  matter.  Electric  force,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  is  not  in  perpetual  activity." 

"  I  have  sometimes  exercised  my  imagination,"  said 
Isabel,  "  in  conjecturing  where  all  this  water  comes 
from  into  the  lakes  ;  but  I  have  never  been  abfc  to  form 
a  definite  idea  on  the  subject." 

"  Probably  you  never  will.  While  such  speculations 
are  curious  and  interesting,  they  do  not,  in  the  present 
state  of  our  knowledge,  afford  much  of  a  solution." 

They  passed  many  hours  at  this  spot,  in  alternate 
periods  of  conversation  and  silence,  dining  at  sunset  in 
the  hotel.  In  the  evening  the  moon  came  forth  in  its 
fullest  light,  and  they  saw  the  rare  phenomenon  of  the 
lunar  rainbow  from  several  favorite  spots.  It  was  an 
hour  when  personal  consciousness  is  almost  lost  in  the 
overpowering  influences  of  nature.  James  was  not 
verj^  susceptible  of  such  influences.  Margaret  walked 
with  him  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  and  they  sat 
down.  She  was  somewhat  abstracted,  but  not  unwill- 
ing to  converse. 

"  What  is  it,"  he  asked  her,  "  that  makes  you  think 
so  much  of  the  probability  of  war  in  our  country,  and 
its  effect  on  the  nation  and  on  individuals  ?"  It  was  the 
first  time  that  he  had  tried  to  converse  with  her  on  such 
a  subject,  and  there  was  a  little  danger  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  understand  her. 

"  It  seems  to  be  almost  certain,"  said  Margaret, 
''  from  what  my  wisest  friends  foresee,  that  our  country 
is  destined  to  go  through  a  great  trial.  It  is  difficult 
for  any  woman  to  comprehend  the  state  of  things,  but 
my  feelings  lead  me  to  think  that  influences  to  which 
none  of  us  have  ever  yet  been  subjected  will  act  upon 
both  men  and  women." 


220  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

"  But  why  should  our  domestic  and  private  lives  be 
so  much  affected  by  such  things  ?  If  our  happiness  is 
secured  by  a  lot  that  affords  all  the  advantages  of  life, 
why  should  we  not  be  happy  ?" 

"  I  think,"  said  Margaret,  "  that  I  have  heard  you 
speak  of  the  weariness  that  comes  from  the  want  of 
steady  and  serious  occupation.  The  employment  and 
development  of  our  energies  is  certainly  necessary  to 
happiness/  A  life  that  consisted  in  nothing  but  the  en- 
joyment of  the  good  things  of  life,  as  they  are  called, 
would  not  be  much  of  a  life." 

"  But  have  you  not  left  out  the  happiness  of  married 
life  ?  That  is  not  one  of  the  good  things  that  you 
would  exclude,  is  it?" 

James  had  never  before  come  so  near  to  the  point 
which  he  wished  to  reach  with  Margaret,  and  it  was 
by  an  unwonted  effort  that  he  made  this  attempt  to 
understand  her.  She  was  silent  for  a  little  while.  It 
was  new  to  her  to  find  that  he  was  rather  more  capa- 
ble of  thinking  than  she  had  supposed.  At  length 
she  said,  very  gently,  ''  No,  but  in  all  that  I  have  seen 
or  known  of  married  life,  happiness  has  been  founded 
on  something  more  than  Hking ;  and  I  cannot  under- 
stand what  love  is,  unless  there  is  something  to  be  rev- 
erenced and  leaned  upon.  But,  really,  we  are  talking 
about  something  that  is  out  of  my  experience.  You 
must  not  suppose,  that  it  is  anything  but  a  misfortune 
peculiar  to  myself  if  I  do  not  have  the  common  esti- 
mate of  happiness." 

She  was  almost  inclined  to  say  that,  since  they  had 
known  each  other,  she  had  been  aware  of  his  feelings 
towards  her,  and  that  she  was  sorry  she  could  not 
return  them.  But  he  had  not  made  a  declaration  of 
his  love,  and  she  must  leave  him  to  infer  what  she 
could  not  say.  She  rose,  and  they  walked  to  where 
her  aunt  and  Mr.  Charaxes  were  waiting  for  them. 

So  it  went  on  for  several  days.  All  the  sights  were 
seen  and  they  had  full  enjoyment  of  that  education 
which  Charaxes  had  said  was  to  be  obtained  in  the 
study  of  Niagara.  But  when  Mrs.  G-ascoigne  and  her 
son  left  for  their  home  in  Boston,  James  had  not  been 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND   LOVE.      221 

able  to  obtain  much  to  sustain  his  hopes,  and  his 
mother  felt  much  discouraged.  Margaret's  farewell  to 
both  of  them  was  very  simple ;  kind,  but  without  the 
least  apparent  consciousness  of  anj^thing  but  friendly 
regard.  Both  Mr.  Charaxes  and  Miss  Brewster  were 
very  cordial  in  the  expression  of  a  hope  that  they 
would  meet  again. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

POLITICS,    LITERATURE,    WAR,    AND    LOYE. 

Although  Mr.  Charaxes,  in  his  conversation  with 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  at  Saratoga,  made  light  of  the  idea 
that  he  may  have  been  remotely  related  to  the  young 
Greek  who  carried  off  Henrietta  in  the  time  of  King 
Charles  II.,  he  felt  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  the  story. 
After  his  return  home  he  wrote  to  his  distant  relative 
in  Greece,  and  requested  that  a  search  might  be  made 
in  the  old  books  and  papers  of  the  house,  in  order  to 
discover  if  there  was  any  evidence  that  a  member  of 
the  family  had  been  settled  in  business  in  London 
during  the  seventeenth  century.  The  result  of  the 
search  was  that  a  Charaxes  had  been  in  trade  in  the 
city  of  London  for  thirty  years,  and  that  he  had  a 
son  who  was  born  in  England.  It  was  then  found,  in 
one  of  the  parish  registers  of  London,  that  this  son 
was  born  in  the  year  1630,  and  consequently  that  at 
the  time  of  the  Restoration  he  was  thirty  years  old. 
From  letters  and  other  papers  preserved  in  the  house 
at  Crete,  it  appeared  that  the  London  merchant  re- 
turned to  Greece  at  about  the  time  assigned  by  the 
tradition  in  the  Gascoigne  family,  but  no  mention  was 
made  of  his  son's  departure  from  England  at  or  about 
the  same  time,  either  with  or  without  a  lady.  But 
there  was  a  Charaxes  of  the  same  baptismal  name — 
Stephen — who  settled  in  one  of  the  maritime  towns 
of  the  Mediterranean,  and  it  was  reputed  that  his 
wife  was  an  English  woman  of  a  noble  family.     When 

19* 


222  JOHN  CHAR  AXES. 

all  these  facts  had  been  collected,  Mr.  Charaxes  com- 
municated them  to  Mrs.  Gascoigne  in  a  very  charac- 
teristic letter,  which  is  now  before  me. 

"  Detroit,  November  30,  1860. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Gascoigne, — I  will  not  say  that  my 
pursuit  of  the  summum  bonum  has  been  seriously  in- 
terfered with  by  the  prosecution  of  the  researches 
which  the  enclosed  papers  will  show  I  have  had  made, 
notwithstanding  my  incredulity.  I  suppose  it  was 
your  superior  feminine  sagacity  which  led  you  to  put 
more  faith  in  the  result  of  this  search  than  I  did ;  and, 
at  all  events,  the  interest  which  the  story  has  always 
had  for  you,  ever  since  you  heard  it,  was  reason  enough 
for  my  doing  everything  in  my  power  to  gratify  your 
wishes  by  finding  out  all  that  could  be  learned.  I 
accept  the  probability  that  the  young  Greek  rascal 
who  carried  off  that  beautiful  Henrietta,  whose  portrait 
so  fascinated  you,  was  a  member  of  one  branch  of 
the  family  to  which  my  father  belonged,  although  I  do 
not  suppose  that  my  father  was  one  of  his  descendants, 
since,  whatever  the  misfortune  of  my  own  birth,  my 
father  was  of  the  elder  branch  of  Charaxes,  who  were 
merchants  in  Greece  for  at  least  two  centuries,  whereas 
the  London  man  was  one  of  a  collateral  branch  of  the 
same  name.  If  Cleopatra's  letters  are  ever  discovered 
and  published,  I  shall  look  into  them  to  find  her  trans- 
actions with  my  ancestors,  notwithstanding  you  seemed 
incredulous  about  our  connection  with  her  business 
affairs  when  she  came  into  our  part  of  the  world,  and 
*  The  barge  she  sat  in,  like  a  burnished  throne,  burned 
on  the  water;  the  poop  was  beaten  gold.'  What 
would  not  antiquarians  now  give  for  a  bill  of  exchange 
drawn  and  signed  by  the  Queen  of  Egypt,  endorsed 
by  Marc  Antony,  and  discounted  for  him  by  the  house 
of  Charaxes! 

"  But  a  truce  to  these  old-world  stories.  Will  not 
you  and  your  son  honor  and  gratify  an  old  man  devoted 
to  philosophy  by  making  him  a  visit  at  the  coming 
Christmas  ?  You  will  find  a  house  of  which  a  Western 
humorist  has  said  that  it  is  a  '  comfortable  shelter  from 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND  LOVE.     223 

the  weather,'  and  I  can  promise  you  some  conversible 
company.  You  know  what  conversation  is,  and  a  lady 
who  can  contribute  to  it  as  you  can  deserves  the  best 
that  can  be  offered  to  her.  Miss  Brewster,  I  know,  will 
be  most  happy  to  meet  you  again,  and  I  am  sure  that 
Mr.  James  will  not  be  indifferent  to  the  prospect  of 
seeing  once  more  the  young  lady  whom  he  so  much 
admired  at  Saratoga  and  Niagara.  With  all  the  best 
wishes  of  the  coming  season, 

"  1  am,  dear  madam, 

'•  Yours  most  sincerely, 

"John  Charaxes." 

"  What  is  all  this,  mamma,"  asked  James,  when  he 
had  read  the  letter,  "  about  a  young  Greek  and  a 
lady?" 

"  It  refers  to  a  story  that  I  was  told  on  a  visit  that  I 
made  with  your  father  at  Gascoigne  House  soon  after 
our  marriage.  I  was  shown  a  very  striking  portrait 
of  a  girl  who  was  said  to  have  eloped  with  a  young 
Greek  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.  In  English  families 
of  rank  there  are  often  romantic  traditions,  and  this 
one,  partly  from  its  wildness  and  partly  from  the  fasci- 
nation which  the  portrait  had  for  me,  remained  in  my 
^lemory  a  long  time.  When  we  met  Mr.  Charaxes  at 
Saratoga  his  Greek  name  led  me  to  tell  him  this  story, 
and  to  ask  if  it  might  not  have  been  possible  that  this 
young  man  was  a  kinsman  of  his.  I  could  hardly  give 
a  reason  for  this  idea,  but  it  had  taken  possession  of 
me." 

"  You  never  told  me  this  story." 

"No,  dear.  I  have  never  told  you  a  great  many 
things  about  my  life  in  England, — much  of  it  was  too 
painful.  Your  poor  father's  death  was  shockingly  sud- 
den, and  since  you  have  grown  up  I  have  had  many 
reasons  for  not  telling  you  about  his  family.  Your 
grandfather  Bradshaw,  my  kind  and  most  indulgent 
father,  who  died  before  I  returned  home,  expressed  a 
wish  that  you  should  be  brought  up  as  an  American 
citizen,  and  that  wish  has  always  been  to  me  a  sacred 
injunction.     Can  you  not  forgive  me  for  having  told 


224  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

you  so  little  of  your  father's  family?  The  probability 
of  your  succeeding  to  their  property  or  their  honors 
came  to  an  end  many  j^ears  ago.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
weak  jealousy  that  made  me  so  silent  about  that  part 
of  ni}^  life,  but  my  experience  with  every  member  of 
that  family,  excepting  your  father  and  his  youngest 
sister,  and  an  aunt  of  his,  was  anything  but  pleasant." 

At  the  time  of  this  conversation  James  was  sitting 
with  his  mother  on  a  sofa  in  her  boudoir.  He  put  his 
arm  around  her  neck,  and,  kissing  her  cheek  tenderly, 
he  said, — 

"Dearest  mamma,  you  have  always  judged  wisely 
about  everything.  I  should  be  most  ungrateful  if  I 
were  ever  to  harbor  a  thought  that  you  have  not  acted 
for  the  best.  But  how  about  this  visit  ?  What  answer 
are  you  going  to  make  to  this  letter?" 

"  I  shall  be  governed,  dear,  entirely  by  your  wishes. 
I  should  like  to  meet  Mr.  Charaxes  and  Miss  Brewster 
once  more,  but  if  you  feel  that  it  is  not  best  for  you  to 
see  Miss  Margaret  Brewster  again,  I  certainly  should 
not  wish  to  accept  the  invitation." 

"  I  cannot  say,  mamma,  that  I  have  much  hope  that 
her  feelings  towards  me  will  change.  When  we  left 
Niagara  she  had,  as  you  know,  given  me  no  encourage- 
ment, but  nothing  decisive  had  occurred.  What  do  you- 
think  yourself?" 

"  I  do  not  think  you  should  avoid  meeting  her  again, 
when  it  is  made  so  easy  for  you  by  this  invitation 
from  Mr.  Charaxes;  and  I  do  not  think,  either,  that  it 
would  be  well  for  you  to  feel  that  you  are  cherishing  a 
hopeless  attachment.  Tou  have  staked  a  great  deal 
upon  it,  and  perhaps  I  have  done  more  than  I  ought 
in  leading  you  to  be  so  steadfast  and  constant.  But,  as 
well  as  I  can  judge,  the  case  is  not  hopeless." 

"  Then  let  us  go,  by  all  means.  I  do  not  know  what 
I  could  have  to  trust  to  if  I  were  to  give  up  all  reli- 
ance on  your  judgment.  But  what  do  you  suppose  it 
is  that  makes  her  seem  so  indifferent  to  an  attachment, 
that  she  must  know  is  sincere  ?  Do  you  think  that  she 
,may  care  for  some  one  else  ?" 

"No;  from  something  her  aunt  said  to  me,  although 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND  LOVE.     225 

it  was  very  slight,  I  feel  quite  sure  that  it  was  not  so. 
I  will  tell  you  what  my  idea  is  about  her.  I  think  that 
she  is  a  girl  of  very  fine  intellect,  most  thoroughly  and 
carefully  educated.  Her  father  and  old  Mr.  Charaxes, 
who  are  both  superior  men  in  their  different  ways, 
have  probably  been  the  only  men  of  whom  she  has  ever 
seen  much.  Her  standard  is  thus  very  high  ;  and  from 
some  ideal  which  she  has  been  led  to  adopt,  she  is  less 
susceptible  than  most  girls  of  her  age,  and  perhaps  she 
thinks  that  she  must  find  something  lofty  or  uncom- 
mon in  a  man  before  she  can  love  him.  I  fancy  that 
until  they  came  to  Saratoga  she  had  never  been  much 
in  the  world.  Her  aunt  did  not  seem  to  me  to  be  a 
person  who  would  have  aimed  to  make  her  very  dif- 
ferent from  other  girls,  although  Miss  Brewster  is  cer- 
tainly a  lady  of  a  great  deal  of  character;  but  I  have 
never  conversed  with  her  much  about  her  niece.  I  do 
not  see  that  you  ought  to  consider  yourself  incapable 
of  winning  the  love  of  a  girl  who  has  never  refused  you. 
She  is  worth  trying  for,  and  it  may  do  you  a  great  deal 
of  good  to  try.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  best  to  ac- 
cept the  old  man's  invitation." 

James  was  never  above  or  below  his  mother's  in- 
fluence. Her  power  over  him  was  supreme,  from  its 
very  gentleness.  Her  affection  for  him  had  not  always 
been  wisely  manifested,  but  it  had  won  from  him  a 
love  for  herself  that  was  very  beautiful.  Fond  and 
over-indulgent  mothers  do  not  always  get  this  return 
from  an  only  son ;  but  Isabel  had  it  in  full  measure, 
pressed  down,  heaped  up,  and  running  over.  It  kept 
him  pure  and  good,  if  he  was  not  brilliant.  I  ceased 
to  care  whether  he  would  ever  set  the  river  on  fire.  I 
knew  that  his  love  for  his  mother  had  made  him  proof 
against  the  coarser  temptations  of  life,  that  beset  so 
many  young  men  who  have  plenty  of  money  and  no 
occupation.  To  him  his  mother  was  always  perfection, 
let  other  people  think  what  they  might. 

Mrs.  Gascoigne's  answer  to  Mr.  Charaxes  was  both 
graceful  and  cordial,  and  I  am  sure  my  readers  would 
not  thank  me  if  I  did  not  give  it  to  them,  from  the 
copy  that  I  found  among  her  papers. 

P 


226  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

"  Boston,  December  5,  1860. 

"My  dear  Mr.  CharAxes, — Your  most  kind  and 
welcome  letter  deserves  a  prompt  answer.  I  hope  you 
will  not  think  me' ungrateful  if  I  take  but  little  interest 
in  any  of  the  dealings  which  any  of  your  forebears  may 
have  had  with  '  the  Serpent  of  Old  Nile.'  I  hope  she 
poisoned  none  of  them,  and  that  they  made  her  pay 
well  for  all  the  money  that  they  advanced  on  her  bills. 
But  the  later  and  I  suspect  more  authentic  history  of 
your  family,  which  you  have  investigated  for  my  bene- 
fit, and  have  so  kindly  communicated  to  me,  I  thank 
you  for  most  sincerely.  I  now  feel  that  our  friendship 
has  quite  a  romantic  origin  in  a  strange  past  concealed 
in  the  web  of  fate  for  two  hundred  years  or  more,  and 
brought  out  by  the  accident  of  our  meeting  at  Saratoga. 

"  I  accept  with  very  great  pleasure,  for  my  son  and 
myself,  your  kind  invitation.  We  hope  to  present  our- 
selves at  your  house  earlj^  in  Christmas  w^eek,  where 
we  shall  doubtless  find  shelter  not  only  from  the 
weather  but  from  all  other  annoyances  that  kindness 
and  considerate  hospitality  can  guard  against.  You 
must  allow  me,  however,  to  be  rather  a  listener  than  a 
talker,  and  to  give  the^^s  to  that  wise  and  interesting 
lady,  Miss  Brewster,  to  whom  and  to  Miss  Margaret  I 
beg  you  to  present  my  kind  regards,  not  forgetting  the 
very  useful  Mrs.  Davis,  to  whom  I  owe  the  honor  of 
your  acquaintance.     Believe  me,  dear  sir, 

"  Most  gratefully  and  sincerely  yours, 

"  Isabella  Gascoigne." 

Before  they  left  Boston,  Mrs.  Gascoigne  thought  it 
prudent  to  suggest  to  her  son  to  change  his  usual  style 
of  putting  his  full  name,  James  Bradshaw  Gascoigne,  on 
his  visiting-card.  It  was  a  little  difficult  to  assign  a 
reason  for  this,  but  on  consultation  with  me,  I  told  her 
that  as  James  was  now  five-and-twenty,  and  as  they 
were  going  into  a  part  of  the  country  where  none  of  her 
family  were  known,  I  thought  that  if  his  visiting-card 
were  to  read  simply  "  Mr.  Gascoigne,"  it  would  be  quite 
appropriate.  She  proposed  this  to  James,  and  as  usual 
he  acquiesced  in  her  advice,  without  the  least  idea  that 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND  LOVE.     227 

there  was  any  special  reason  for  it.  For  a  similar  reason 
she  determined  to  leave  Dinah  at  home,  and  to  take 
the  same  maid  who  accompanied  her  to  Saratoga. 

As  I  never  saw  Mr.  Charaxes's  house  at  Detroit,  I 
must  rely  for  a  description  of  it  and  of  the  incidents  of 
the  visit  on  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  letters,  which  I  received 
from  time  to  time. 

Detroit,  December  23,  1860. 
"  My  dear  old  Friend,— In  fulfilment  of  the  promise 
I    made   to   you    and   Mrs.    Boylston,   I    write   to   let 
you   know   of  the   few   incidents  of  our  journey,   and 
our  reception  here.     We  stayed  two  days  at  Niagara, 
in   order   to    see  it  in   its  winter  magnificence.      The 
weather   had   been  cold    enough  to  clothe  the  whole 
scene  in  some  of  the  grandeur  and  beauty  of  ice  and 
snow,  but  probably  not  in  the  fulness  of  display  that 
will   come   later.     I  remembered   a   remark  that  Mr. 
Charaxes  made  more  than  once  about  the  impossibility 
of  describing  ]S'iagara  in  words.     It  is  extremely  diffi- 
cult  to  give  a  description  of  it  at  this  season.     You 
must  imagine  all  the  trees  but  the  evergreens  stripped 
of  their  foliage,  and  their  trunks  and  branches  coated 
in  the  morning  with  the  frozen  spray,  whenever  it  had 
been  freezing   during  the  night.     Soon   after  the  sun 
struck  them  this  coating  fell  off,  to  be  renewed  on  the 
next  cold  night.     Enormous  icicles  hung  from  some  of 
the  rocks,  but  as  yet  there  are  no  masses  of  ice  coming 
down   the   rapids.     I   think,    however,  I   enjoyed  the 
sights  at   Niagara  more   when  we   were   here  in   the 
summer.     For   the   two  days  that  we  were  here  last 
week,  the  weather  was  too  inclement  for  me  to  be  out 
much.     In  order  to  take  in  this  wonderful  spectacle, 
one  needs  to  sit  still  for  hours  at  the  same  spot,  and  do 
nothing  but  gaze  and  think. 

"After  leaving  Niagara,  we  made  a  detour  into  Ohio, 
and  stopped  at  Mansfield,  in  order  to  see  Miss  Sim- 
mons. I  found  her  most  delightfully  situated.  She 
lives  with  her  nephew,  who  is  in  a  prosperous  business. 
The  plants  which  you  know  I  forwarded  to  her,  after 
she  left  me,  are  all  in  a  most  flourishing  condition.     The 


228  JOHN  CHAR  AXES. 

old  lady  was  disposed  to  rally  me  about  what  she  was 
pleased  to  consider  my  neglect  of  opportunities.  As  I 
knew  that  she  did  it  out  of  fond  partiality  and  in  the 
most  aftectionate  spirit,  I  let  her  run  on.  If  I  repeat  a 
little  of  it  to  you,  you  will  acquit  me  of  vanity. 

"  '  Well,  my  dear,  I  did  expect  to  receive  from  you 
an  invitation  to  come  to  Boston  to  attend  a  ceremony, 
which  sooner  or  later,  must  occur.  How  is  it  that 
none  of  them  have  persuaded  jom  to  change  your  con- 
dition ?' 

"'Dear  Miss  Simmons,'  I  said,  'did  I  not  tell  3'ou, 
years  ago,  that  there  were  no  caskets  in  my  house 
standing  ready  to  be  opened?  You  surely  have  not 
forgotten  the  lottery  in  which  Portia's  fate  was  in- 
volved ?' 

"'Portia,'  she  exclaimed;  'why!  your  father  con- 
trived no  lottery  for  you.  You  are  perfectly"  free  to 
choose,  and  yet  you  will  not  choose.  There  are  plenty 
of  caskets,  but  it  is  for  you  to  open  one  of  thera.' 

"  '  Let  me  tell  you  a  secret,  my  dear  old  friend,' 
I  rej^lied.  '  You  know  that  my  life  is  devoted  to  an 
only  son.  James  is  in  love  with  a  young  lady  whom  I 
am  most  anxious  to  have  him  marry.  All  m}^  thoughts, 
all  my  feelings,  are  enlisted  for  him.  But  it  is  doubt- 
ful what  the  result  will  be.' 

"  'Ah!'  she  said,  '  that  alters  the  case.  Forgive  my 
banter,  Isabel.  I  hope  I  am  not  a  thoughtless  old 
woman.  I  will  join  my  hopes  to  yours,  and  lay  aside 
all  expectation  of  seeing  you  tvj  to  improve  your  own 
lot.  And  after  all,  I  do  not  really  believe  that  it  could 
be  improved,  so  far  as  you  alone  are  concerned.  But 
when  the  felicity  that  you  seek  for  in  your  son's  hap- 
piness does  come  to  you,  you  will  let  me  share  it?' 

"  '  That  I  will,  my  friend ;  you  shall  know  of  it  im- 
mediately.' 

"  With  this  understanding,  I  left  her,  and  both  you 
and  Mrs.  Boylston  now  know  on  what  all  my  hopes 
are  staked. 

"  We  reached  Mr.  Charaxes's  house  on  the  day  before 
yesterday,  and  were  most  cordialh^  and  gracefully 
received.     You  met  him  once,  long  before  I  knew  him, 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND  LOVE.     229 

and  you  know  what  a  charming  old  man  he  is.  Time 
has  not  taken  from  him  any  of  the  graces  of  mind  or 
person  that  have  always  distinguished  him.  He  has 
but  few  of  the  infirmities  of  age,  and  his  life  bids  fair 
to  be  a  very  long  one,  he  has  lived  so  carefully  and  ra- 
tionally. I  was  most  agreeably  surprised  by  his  beau- 
tiful and  well-ordered  establishment.  You  must  figure 
to  yourself  a  spacious  stone  house,  standing  in  four  or 
five  acres  of  well-kept  grounds,  on  a  slight  elevation, 
near  the  city  of  Detroit.  It  was  built  a  hundred  years 
ago,  or  more,  by  descendants  of  one  of  the  early 
French  settlers. 

"  From  the  front  of  the  house  there  is  a  fine  view  of 
Lake  St.  Clair.  On  the  ground  floor  there  are  four 
large  rooms,  two  on  each  side  of  the  spacious  hall ; 
one  is  a  noble  drawing-room.  The  others  contain  his 
very  large  collection  of  books,  in  choice  bindings, 
w^orks  of  art  and  knick-knacks  of  all  sorts,  gathered 
from  many  parts  of  the  world,  and  arranged  in  some 
historical  order  of  illustration  of  different  epochs  and 
countries.  They  are  mostly,  however,  European  and 
Asiatic  curios.  He  does  not  seem  to  take  much  to  the 
ethnology  of  our  American  continent,  but  there  are 
enough  specimens  of  this  class  to  make  a  small  de- 
partment by  themselves.  He  tells  me  that  in  the  days 
of  his  active  life  he  transacted  business  with  many 
persons  in  remote  parts  of  the  world,  and  was  often 
able  to  do  kindnesses  to  men  whom  he  had  never 
seen,  in  acknowledgment  of  which  there  came  to  him 
quantities  of  things  that  it  was  supposed  would  please 
him.  Sometimes  the  sender,  who  had  met  Avith  some 
curiosity,  would  forward  it  to  him  and  draw  upon  him 
for  the  price  that  he  had  paid.  In  these  cases  he 
always  honored  the  draft.  In  the  great  majority  of 
cases,  however,  the  things  were  gifts,  sent  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  some  service,  or  because  the  persons  send- 
ing them  thought  he  would  be  gratified.  There  are 
people  to  whom  attentions  of  this  kind  seem  to  gravi- 
tate by  some  mysterious  law  of  attraction,  although 
they  are  exceptional  mortals.  Charaxes  is  one  of 
them,  and  his  house  is  full  of  very  remarkable  things 

20 


230  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

that  came  to  him  in  this  way,  of  which  I  could  not 
begin  to  give  you  a  catalogue,  if  I  were  to  try. 

"But  I  must  tell  jou  of  a  little  thing  that  occurred 
in  regard  to  one  of  the  books  in  his  collection.  In  a  con- 
versation that  I  had  with  him  at  Saratoga,  and  which 
I  repeated  to  you,  you  remember  that  I  laughingly 
told  him  he  reminded  me  of  the  philosopher  Imlac, 
in  Johnson's  '  Easselas.'  This  seemed  to  amuse  him 
very  much.  On  the  day  after  our  arrival  here  I  was 
sitting  with  him  in  his  principal  library,  a  large  room 
in  the  front  of  the  house.  He  took  down  from  a  shelf 
two  small  volumes,  printed  in  a  large  plain  t3'pe,  which 
he  placed  in  my  hands.  'This,'  said  he,  'is  a  copy  of 
"Easselas,"  that  in  all  probability  was  handled  by  the 
great  doctor  himself,  for  it  is  the  first  edition,  and  on  a 
fly-leaf  of  the  first  volume  you  will  see  the  autograph 
of  James  Boswell,  the  second  son  of  "Jemmy."  Prob- 
ably this  very  copy  was  given  to  Jemmy  Boswell  by 
Johnson  himself.' 

"  'How  did  this  copy  get  into  your  possession,  sir?' 
I  asked. 

"'James  Boswell,  the  son  of  "  Bozzy,"  was  a  barris- 
ter in  the  Temple.  He  died  in  1822,  a  short  time  be- 
fore his  brother.  Sir  Alexander,  who  you  recollect  was 
killed  in  a  duel.  They  were  both  intimate  friends 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  James  Boswell  the  younger  was 
a  scholar,  and  edited  the  last  variorum  edition  of 
Shakespeare.  His  books  and  other  effects  were  sold  in 
London,  and  I  bought  this  copy  of  "Easselas"  for  five 
pounds.  I  showed  it  to  Sir  Walter,  who  verified  James 
Boswell's  signature.  He  told  me  many  anecdotes  about 
these  two  Boswells,  who  were,  he  said,  very  different 
men  from  their  fiather  "  Jemmy,"  and  that  they  prob- 
ably inherited  some  of  their  grandfather,  old  Lord 
Anchinleck's,  contempt  for  their  father.' 

"  '  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Charaxes,'  I  asked, '  that  Bozzy 
was  such  a  contemptible  person  after  all  ?' 

" '  In  some  respects  he  was,  and  in  some  he  was  not. 
Both  he  and  Johnson  have  been  a  good  deal  caricatured, 
especially  by  Macaulay.  Every  one  recognizes  the 
correctness  of  Macaulay's  statement  that  Boswell,  with 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND   LOVE.     231 

all  his  weaknesses  and  follies,  wrote  the  most  remark- 
able biography  that  had  been  written  of  any  man  in  the 
English  or  perhaps  in  any  other  language.  Other  people 
have  said  the  same  thing  long  before  Macaula3\  But, 
then,  to  give  point  to  the  antithesis,  Macaulay  exagger- 
ated Boswell's  follies,  and  belittled  his  intellect.  As  to 
Maeaulay's  characterization  of  Johnson,  it  is  simply  a 
daub,  and  not  a  portrait.  An  adequate  character  of 
Johnson  remains  to  be  written.' 

"  Then  he  took  down  Madame  de  Stael's  '  Corinne,' 
and  Bj-ron's  '  Childe  Harold,'  and  referring  to  our  con- 
versation at  Saratoga  about  descriptions  of  great  nat- 
ural objects,  he  read  these  two  passages, — 1  translate 
the  French  of  Madame  de  Stael, — 

'"The  Catholic  church  (at  Ancona)  stands  on  a 
height  that  overlooks  the  main,  the  lash  of  whose 
tides  frequently  blends  with  the  chant  of  the  priests. 
.  .  .  The  soul  delights  to  recall  its  purest  emotions 
— religion — while  gazing  at  that  superb  sj^ectacle,  the 
sea,  on  which  man  never  left  his  trace.  He  may  plough 
the  earth  and  cut  his  way  through  mountains,  or  con- 
tract rivers  into  canals  for  the  transport  of  his  mer- 
chandise, but  if  his  fleets  for  a  moment  furrow  the  ocean, 
its  waves  as  instantly  efface  this  slight  mark  of  servi- 
tude, and  it  again  appears  such  as  it  was  on  the  first  day 
of  its  creation.' 

"  '  Eoll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean, — roll  ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain  ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin, — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore  ; — upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage. 

"  '  Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow, — 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now.' 

"  '  What  do  you  think  of  this  plagiarism  ?'  he  asked. 

"'Is  it  a  plagiarism?'  I  asked,  in  my  turn.  'The 
ideas  are  what  would  naturally  occur  to  two  j^ersons 
of  vigorous  imagination,  independently,  and  I  suppose 
it  has  often  happened  that  two  writers  have  had  the 
same  thoughts,  and  one  has  expressed  them  in  prose 


232  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

and  the  other  in  poetry.  I  was  a  great  reader  of  Ey- 
ron  when  I  was  young,  but  I  never  analj-zed  his  poetry 
by  looking  up  the  sources  of  his  thoughts  or  expres- 
sions. May  not  Madame  de  Stael  have  had  suggested 
to  her  this  idea  of  man's  insignificance  in  the  presence 
of  the  ocean  by  the  passage  in  the  book  of  Job  where 
the  same  idea  is  put  in  a  variety  of  ways  in  illustration 
of  his  feelings  in  the  presence  of  many  of  the  depart- 
ments of  nature?' 

"  '  There  is  not  much,'  he  replied,  '  in  the  book  of  Job 
that  could  have  suggested  the  striking  imagery  and 
expressions  of  which  Madame  de  Stael  made  use  in  that 
passage,  and  I  must  say  that  the  similarity  between 
her  ideas  and  language  and  Byron's  is  so  remarkable 
that  I  should  call  the  poet's  a  very  close  imitation.  A 
critic  might  find  it  worth  while,  however,  to  look  into 
sources  older  than  Madame  de  Stael,  although  it  is 
certain  that  Bvron  wrote  after  her.  "  Corinne"  was 
first  published  in  1807  ;  "  Childe  Harold"  in  1812.' 

"  I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  seen  Madame  de  Stael. 

"  '  Yes,'  he  replied, '  I  knew  her  a  little  in  Paris,  when 
Napoleon  was  first  consul,  and  a  common  dislike  of  him 
was  one  bond  of  sympathy  between  us.  But  she  never 
was  a  woman  to  my  taste.  Her  genius  was  most  ex- 
traordinary, but  in  conversation  she  was  exceedingly 
theatrical  and  declamatory,  although  she  often  said 
grand  things,  and  often  wrote  them,  too.  Did  you  ever 
read  the  letter  which  she  wrote  to  La  Fayette  after  she 
heard  that  he  had  been  released  from  Olmutz?  It 
sounds  like  the  blast  of  a  bugle.  It  is  the  voice  of 
France  calling  upon  her  citizen  to  come  back  to  his 
native  soil  and  serve  his  country  as  he  alone  could. 
But  La  Fayette  had  not  the  force  to  contend  against 
Napoleon.  He  did  well  for  a  time  to  retire  to  Lagrange. 
There  is  a  little  cemeterj^  in  an  obscure  quarter  of 
Paris,  closely  surrounded  by  buildings ;  it  is  called  the 
Cemetery  of  Picpus.  It  was  there  that  the  remains 
of  the  victims  of  the  guillotine  during  the  Reign  of 
Terror  were  huddled  in  an  undistinguishable  mass  into 
a  trench.  Many  of  them  were  aristocrats  of  the  Fau- 
bourg de  St.  Germain ;  among  them  Madame  de  La 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND  LOVE.     233 

Fayette's  mother  and  sister.  La  Fayette  himself  was 
buried  in  that  little  cemetery  by  the  side  of  his  wife, 
and  the  only  inscription  over  his  grave  is  the  grandly 
simple  one, — 

"LA  FAYETTE 

CITIZEN    AND    GENERAL." 

I  wish  there  could  be  a  good  and  impartial  life  of  La 
Fayette  written.  It  ought  to  be  done  by  some  Amer- 
ican scholar.  There  has  not  been  an  English  historian 
in  this  century  who  could  have  done  it  fairly.  The 
English  never  understood  him,  and  never  did  him 
justice.' 

"  These  are  only  specimens  of  Mr.  Charaxes's  talk,  as 
he  pours  it  out  all  day  when  he  has  a  listener.  He  does 
me  the  honor  to  say  that  I  am  a  good  one.  Just  as  he 
ended  what  he  was  saying  of  La  Fayette,  Miss  Brews- 
ter's card  was  brought  to  me,  and  Mr.  Charaxes  di- 
rected the  servant  to  show  her  at  once  into  the  library. 

"  '  Ah,  my  dear  lady,'  said  he,  '  I  thought  you  would 
be  glad  to  see  Mrs.  Gascoigne.' 

''  '  I  am  indeed,'  said  Miss  Brewster,  pressing  my 
hand  warmly  ;  '  1  hope  j'ou  are  rested  after  your  long 
journe3\  I  have  just  seen  your  son.  I  left  him  with 
my  niece.  He  seems  very  well.  Eemembering  the 
old  adage  that  three  are  not  company,  I  ordered  the 
carriage  and  drove  out  to  see  you.' 

"  '  And  that  busy  brother  of  yours,'  said  the  old  gen- 
tleman, '  has  he  not  returned  from  Chicago?' 

" '  ]^o,'  she  answered,  '  but  we  hope  he  will  come  home 
to  a  quiet  Christmas  dinner.  I  understand  that  we  are 
not  to  dine  with  you,  sir  ?' 

"  '  I  reserve  that  for  the  following  Saturday,  when  I 
shall  expect  you  all  and  some  other  people,  whom  I 
shall  ask  to  meet  Mrs.  Gascoigne.  Now  that  she  has 
been  so  good  as  to  come,  I  shall  not  let  her  go  away 
soon.' 

"  Then  he  arose,  and,  excusing  himself  on  account  of 
some  business  he  had  to  do  with  a  person  who  had 
called,  he  left  Miss  Brewster  with  me. 

20* 


234  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

'''And  how  has  it  been  with  you  during  the  past 
year  ?'  I  asked. 

"  '  We  have  all  been  well,  and  our  domestic  life  has 
flowed  as  usual.  But  the  state  of  the  country  lately 
has  given  my  brother  a  great  deal  of  anxiety,  and  I 
confess  that  I  share  it  with  him.  You  may  not  know 
that  he  is  not  a  politician,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  and 
not  a  party  man  at  all.  But  he  watches  the  course 
of  public  events  very  closely.  One  thing  that  he  has 
foreseen  has  just  happened, — the  secession  of  South 
Carolina.     It  is  very  startling.' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  answered,  '  it  occurred  after  we  left  Bos- 
ton ;  we  heard  of  it  on  the  way.' 

" '  How  do  wise  people  in  your  part  of  the  country 
feel  about  these  things  ?' 

"  '  It  would  be  difficult  to  say  who  our  wise  people 
are,'  I  replied.  '  You  know  that  the  dominant  politi- 
cal feeling  in  New  England  has  long  been  against  the 
South.  A  woman  like  myself,  who  does  not  see  many 
political  men,  must  judge  of  the  state  of  public  feeling 
by  what  she  hears  from  her  immediate  friends.  One 
of  my  oldest  friends  is  a  gentleman  of  pretty  wide  ob- 
servation and  cool  judgment.  He  tells  me  that  through- 
out ]^ew  England  there  is  a  general  and  unaccountable 
apathy  in  regard  to  what  the  South  may  do,  which  he 
thinks  is  a  dangerous  feeling.' 

"  '  May  it  not  come  from  the  fact,'  asked  Miss  Brews- 
ter, '  that  the  late  election  turned  on  a  sectional  issue 
in  regard  to  slavery  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  this  w^as  very 
unfortunate,  and  both  Mr.  Charaxes  and  my  brother 
regard  it  in  the  same  way.  But  what  specially  troubles 
me  now  is  the  constant  intrusion  of  these  political 
controversies  into  our  domestic  lives.  We  women  must, 
of  course,  be  expected  to  sympathize  in  the  prevailing 
political  feelings  in  times  of  great  excitement.  Mar- 
garet reads  almost  nothing  now  but  newspapers,  and 
hears  nothing  talked  about  but  political  affairs.  All 
this  is  telling  upon  her  in  a  way  that  I  do  not  quite 
like.  I  do  not  mean  that  she  is  becoming  less  feminine, 
but  1  sometimes  think  that  she  is  getting  wrought  up 
to  something  that  I  cannot  foresee.     We  come  here 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND  LOVE.     235 

every  Saturday  to  dine  with  Mr.  Charaxes,  and  the 
"coming  events  casting  their  shadows  before"  are  con- 
stantly obtruding.  I  am  very  glad  that  you  came,  for 
I  hope  it  may  direct  Margaret's  thoughts  to  something 
else.  She  sees  scarcely  any  one  who  is  not  thinking 
and  talking  all  the  time  about  public  affairs.  If  there 
should  come  a  necessity  for  women's  activity,  I  cer- 
tainly shall  not  try  to  hold  her  back  or  be  wanting  my- 
self in  any  duty  that  I  can  perform.  But  just  now  I 
welcome  this  episode  of  your  visit.' 

*' '  Mr.  Charaxes,'  I  said,  '  expressed  to  me  at  Sara- 
toga more  than  a  year  ago  his  apprehensions  of  a  civil 
war,  but  I  could  hardly  realize  the  danger.  I  remem- 
ber, however,  that  he  said  it  would  be  a  territorial  war, 
or  one  between  the  two  sections  of  the  country,  if  I  un- 
derstood him  rightly.' 

"  'If  it  is  to  come  at  all,  let  us  hope  that  this  will  be  the 
case ;  but  there  are  parts  of  some  of  the  Western  States 
where  there  may  be  local  divisions,  and  possibly  actual 
conflicts.  Mr.  Charaxes,  wise  and  foreseeing  as  he  is, 
long  as  he  has  lived  among  us,  and  deeply  interested 
as  he  is  in  our  welfare,  is  yet  a  foreigner;  he  may  not 
see  all  the  dangers.  But  it  is  quite  unpardonable  in  me 
to  welcome  you  with  these  forebodings.  Let  us  hope 
for  the  best.  We  women  can  only  hope  and  pray.  And 
now  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  you  to  our 
church  to-morrow.  Mr.  Charaxes  is  not  a  regular 
attendant  at  any  church ;  he  sometimes  goes  to  one 
and  sometimes  to  another,  and  often  stays  at  home. 
But  he  contributes  liberally  to  the  support  of  several 
forms  of  Christianity,  and  so  I  tell  him  that  he  is  a  good 
Christian.  My  father  was  a  Congregational  clergyman 
in  Massachusetts,  and  my  brother  and  I  were  bred  in 
what  was  called  "  orthodoxy."  But  we  have  been  Epis- 
copalians for  many  years.' 

"I  accepted  this  invitation  of  course,  and  will  write 
you  about  the  Christmas  services  in  my  next." 

"  December  26. 
"  Miss  Brewster  and  her  niece  called  for  us  in  their 
carriage  yesterday  and  took  us  to  church,  James  and 


236  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

myself.  Mr.  Brewster  had  not  returned  home.  We 
sat  in  the  rector's  pew.  It  seems  that  the  rector,  Dr. 
Pitman,  was  the  uncle  of  Mrs.  Brewster,  and,  conse- 
quently, he  is  Margaret's  granduncle.  He  is  consider- 
ably over  seventy,  and  has  an  assistant.  The  services 
were  of  a  rather  low-church  order,  but  very  well  con- 
ducted. The  rector's  sermon  was  a  good  one.  From 
something  that  Mr.  Charaxes  told  me,  I  understood 
that  Mrs.  Brewster  was  left  an  orphan  at  an  early  age; 
that  she  was  educated  by  her  uncle,  and  was  married 
from  his  house.  He  has  no  children,  and  his  domestic 
affairs  are  managed  by  a  lady  who  is  a  distant  relation 
of  Mr.  Brewster.     Mrs.  Pitman  died  many  years  ago. 

"Our  Christmas  dinner  was  a  very  quiet  one,  Mr. 
Charaxes  having  asked  no  one  to  meet  us,  meaning  to 
give  his  servants  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  themselves  in 
their  own  way.  James  went  to  the  Brewsters  in  the 
evening,  but  I  do  not  think  there  is  much  change  in 
the  young  lady's  feelings  towards  him.  You  know  the 
secret  hope  of  my  heart,  and  how  much  is  at  stake  for 
him  and  for  me.  I  can  tell  better  what  is  likely  to 
happen  when  I  have  seen  more  of  her." 

"December  28. 
"The  dinner  on  Saturday  was  very  elegant.  The 
table,  which  was  a  round  one,  was  laid  in  Mr.  Cha- 
raxes's  larger  dining-room,  and  the  silver,  porcelain, 
and  glass  were  superb.  Mr.  Charaxes  put  me  on  his 
right  hand.  General  Cass  was  present  and  he  took  in 
Miss  Brewster.  Mr.  Brewster  sat  next,  with  Mrs.  Davis. 
James  had  been  assigned  to  Margaret,  and  of  course 
he  appreciated  the  old  gentleman's  thoughtfulness  in 
making  this  arrangement.  Mrs.  Davis's  husband  (he 
is  a  wealthy  merchant  and  a  man  of  sense),  some  of  the 
younger  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  Detroit,  married  and 
single,  together  with  the  white-haired  old  rector.  Dr. 
Pitman,  composed  the  other  guests.  The  party  num- 
bered about  twenty.  You  have  already  heard  that 
General  Cass  has  resigned  from  the  President's  cabinet ; 
he  came  home  immediately  after  his  resignation.  Dur- 
ing dinner  Mr.  Brewster  asked  him  several  questions, 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND   LOVE.     237 

which  drew  from  him  an  explanation  of  the  reasons  for 
this  step,  but  I  cannot  report  political  conversations. 
There  was  a  long  and  animated  discussion  of  the  state 
of  the  country,  the  prospect  of  a  Southern  confederacy, 
and  a  civil  war.  All  the  gentlemen  seemed  to  think 
that  war  is  inevitable.  As  I  understood  General  Cass, 
he  differed  with  the  President  because  he  did  not  think 
that  the  President  was  doing  what  he  ought  to  do  in 
preparing  to  encounter  the  secession  of  the  Southern 
States.  There  was  a  protracted  argument  about  Mr. 
Buchanan's  policy  in  regard  to  the  Southern  forts,  in 
which  Mr.  Brewster  defended  the  President,  maintain- 
ing that  it  was  his  most  urgent  duty  to  prevent  as 
many  of  the  slave-holding  States  as  possible  from  join- 
ing a  Southern  confederacy,  and  that  arming  forts  in 
the  South  would  only  make  matters  worse.  Miss  Brews- 
ter led  the  way  for  us  to  the  drawing-room,  leaving 
the  gentlemen  to  their  political  talk ;  but  it  was  all,  so 
far  as  I  heard  it,  in  good  temper,  and  most  interesting 
and  instructive.  After  we  had  returned  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  I  had  taken  a  seat  on  one  of  the  sofas,  I 
was  agreeably  surprised  that  Margaret  came  and  sat 
by  me,  as  if  she  wished  to  show  me  some  attention.  I 
do  not  think,  however,  that  it  was  because  I  am  James's 
m.other.  I  presume  it  was  because  I  am  Mr.  Charaxes's 
guest.  It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  ever  had  an 
opportunity  to  converse  with  her  in  a  tete-d-tete.  The 
other  ladies  were  gathered  around  a  table,  looking  at 
some  prints.     I  can  repeat  a  little  of  our  conversation. 

"  '  I  suppose,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,'  she  began,  '  you  were 
a  little  wearied  by  so  much  politics  as  we  had  at 
dinner?' 

"  'No,'  I  replied,  '  I  was  very  much  interested  in  the 
conversation.  Our  country  is  in  a  situation  to  make 
all  of  us,  especially  women,  very  anxious.' 

"  '  But  do  you  not  think,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  that  if  we 
are  to  have  a  war,  the  energies  that  it  will  call  forth 
will  elevate  the  general  and  individual  characters  of 
the  whole  people?' 

"  '  War,  my  dear  young  lady,  is  always  a  calamity, 
and  civil  war  is  the  greatest  of  all  calamities.     I  am 


238  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

not  old  enough  to  remember  anj'thing  of  the  war  with 
England,  but  the  misfortunes  which  it  entailed  upon 
our  commerce  followed  my  father  for  years,  and  his 
children  have  not  wholly  escaped  their  consequences. 
Eut  it  is  not  so  much  because  of  the  effect  on  the  busi- 
ness and  pursuits  of  our  people  that  I  deprecate  a 
war,  as  it  is  that  lives  must  be  sacrificed,  that  the  land 
must  be  filled  with  widows  and  orphans,  and  that  per- 
sonal sufferings  must  be  incalculably  increased  and 
intensified.' 

"  '  But  in  the  alleviation  of  that  suffering,  in  dimin- 
ishing it  as  much  as  possible,  there  will  be  a  great  call 
for  individual  energies,  in  women  as  well  as  in  men  ; 
and  for  men,  who  must  do  the  work  on  fields  of  battle, 
will  there  not  be  demands  that  will  test  the  character 
of  the  nation  and  its  sons  ?' 

"  I  thought  these  were  very  singular  sentiments  to 
be  professed  by  a  young  woman  of  one  or  two  and 
twenty,  and  they  explained  to  me  her  aunt's  feeling 
that  she  was  getting  wrought  up  to  something  that 
could  not  be  foreseen.  Yery  likely  Margaret  had 
heard  some  of  these  ideas  expressed  by  other  and  older 
people,  but  she  had  evidently  carried  them  farther  in 
her  mind  than  one  would  have  imagined  any  woman 
of  her  age  would  be  likely  to  do.  I  made  an  effort  to 
change  the  conversation.  I  tried  books,  society,  music, 
various  topics  on  which  intelligent  young  women  like 
to  talk;  but,  although  she  is  manifestly  an  accom- 
plished girl,  none  of  these  subjects  seemed  to  interest 
her  now.  Yet  she  is  so  intellectual,  and  at  the  same 
time  she  has  so  much  feminine  grace  and  such  gentle 
manners,  that  I  could  not  have  helped  being  attracted 
by  and  interested  in  her,  even  if  I  had  not  had  such  a 
strong  reason  as  I  have  for  observing  her.  It  is  very 
doubtful,  however,  whether  she  will  ever  feel  towards 
James  any  differently  than  she  has  since  they  have 
known  each  other.  I  should  say  that  she  has  a  kind  of 
enthusiasm  that  is  not  likely  to  take  the  form  of  love. 

"  We  shall  remain  here  only  three  days  longer,  and 
in  that  time  I  do  not  look  for  any  further  develop- 
ments.    I  say  ^nothing  to  James  now  on  this  tender 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND   LOVE.      239 

subject,  for  I  fear  that  I  have  already  said  too  much. 
In  regard  to  what  the  future  has  in  store  for  our 
country,  my  feeling  is  one  of  unspeakable  dread.  I 
hope  I  am  not  without  patriotism.  I  could  cheerfully 
give  half  of  my  fortune  to  the  country  if  it  were 
needed ;  but,  as  you,  my  dear  friends,  know  very  well, 
I  was  not  made  to  be  a  Eoman  mother.  My  only 
child  would  be  a  gift  to  my  country  that  I  do  not  be- 
lieve I  could  make.  It  is  my  daily  prayer  that  I  may 
be  spared  that  trial.  But  it  may  come.  May  God 
give  me  strength  to  meet  it,  as  he  has  to  meet  other 
sorrows." 

Already  there  were  in  the  far-off  Southern  regions 
mothers  who  were  ready  to  devote  their  sons  to  what 
they  considered  a  holy  cause  ;  wives  who  could  give  up 
their  husbands;  maidens  who  could  see  their  lovers 
depart,  at  the  call  of  that  country  which  they  all  hoped 
to  make.  Already  there  was  spreading  through  those 
regions  a  conviction  that  the  time  had  come  for  the 
people  of  the  South  to  establish  for  themselves  an  in- 
dependent government.  It  were  idle  to  impute  the 
great  sectional  revolt  to  the  work  of  politicians.  It 
were  useless  to  inquire  whether  our  Southern  friends 
had  real  grievances.  They  believed  that  they  had, 
and  they  believed  that  it  was  best  for  them  to  separate 
themselves  from  us.  When  this  has  become  the  con- 
viction of  a  people  the  bonds  of  such  a  political  sys- 
tem as  ours  will  be  broken.  The  theory  of  the  Con- 
stitution which  prevailed  throughout  the  North  was,  I 
have  always  thought,  the  most  logical,  and  the  most 
in  accordance  with  the  facts  which  attended  its  estab- 
lishment. But  it  was  encountered  by  another  theory, 
and  a  very  different  one,  in  which  the  people  of  the 
South  believed ;  and  as  there  could  be  but  one  final 
arbitrament,  after  every  form  of  discussion  had  been 
exhausted, — as  that  arbitrament  must  be  a  resort  to 
force  if  the  secession  of  the  South  should  not  be 
acquiesced  in  by  the  ]^orth, — the  people  of  the  South- 
ern States  resolved  to  take  the  step  which  resulted  in 
the  formation  of  a  separate  government,  and  to  pre- 


240  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

pare  to  make  good  their  independence.  Troops  were 
raised.  Fort  Sumter,  in  the  harbor  of  Charleston, 
was  beleaguered  ;  the  first  gun  was  fired  ;  the  fortress 
was  surrendered,  after  a  gallant  resistance,  and  the 
dreadful  note  of  war  resounded  throughout  the  North. 
While  these  events  were  rapidly  transpiring,  the  ex- 
ecutive authority  of  the  Federal  government  passed 
from  the  hands  of  President  Buchanan  to  President 
Lincoln.  The  fall  of  Fort  Sumter  took  place  on  the 
21st  of  April,  1862.  An  executive  proclamation  was 
issued,  calling  for  seventy-five  thousand  volunteers 
from  the  States  that  remained  loyal  to  the  Washington 
government.  Every  one  knows  what  followed.  It  is 
for  me  to  tell  how  the  happiness  of  the  persons  in  this 
little  history  was  affected  by  the  public  occurrences. 
Will  the  softness  and  tenderness  of  Isabel  Gascoigne's 
nature  be  equal  to  the  trial  which  she  feared  might 
come  upon  her?  Will  she  have  less  fortitude  than  the 
Southern  matrons  were  to  show  ?  Will  her  son  be  de- 
veloped into  greater  vigor,  and  become  of  a  loftier 
moral  and  intellectual  stature  ?  How  will  the  enthu- 
siasm of  Margaret  Brewster  find  a  sphere  fit  for  the 
exertions  of  a  refined  and  delicate  girl? 

My  readers  must  have  observed  that  in  Mrs.  Gas- 
coigne's letters  to  me  she  had  said  nothing  of  Mr. 
Brewster's  demeanor  towards  herself  while  she  was  at 
Detroit.  After  she  had  returned  home  I  thought  it 
would  not  be  indelicate,  considering  our  long  intimacy, 
to  ask  her  about  it.  I  had  a  reason  for  doing  so,  which 
was  not  the  gratification  of  mere  curiosity.  I  made 
some  allusion  to  the  subject,  and  she  immediately  said, 
with  her  usual  frankness, — 

"  My  dear  friend,  there  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why 
you  should  not  ask  me  anything  on  that  subject  that 
you  wish  to.  I  think  it  best  that  both  you  and  your 
wife  should  know  how  matters  stand.  I,  of  course, 
never  think  of  Mr.  Brewster  but  as  Margaret's  father, 
and  it  is  quite  plain  that,  if  he  thinks  of  me  at  all,  it  is 
only  as  James's  mother."  She  then  told  me  that  she 
returned  Miss  Brewster's  visits  and  accepted  freely  all 
her  attentions.     Sometimes  she  saw  Mr.  Brewster  at 


POLITICS,  LITERATURE,  WAR,  AND  LOVE.     241 

Lis  own  house,  and  they  met  at  other  houses  ;  there 
was  no  embarrassment  for  either  of  them.  He  con- 
versed with  her  as  he  did  with  the  other  ladies,  and  to 
all  outward  appearance  their  acquaintance  began  in 
the  summer  of  1859,  at  Saratoga.  Miss  Brewster,  she 
was  sure,  knew  nothing  of  any  earlier  acquaintance. 
When  Mrs.  Gascoigne  told  me  this  I  felt  some  inclina- 
tion to  ask  her  to  give  me  an  idea  of  the  cause  which, 
so  long  ago,  produced  the  sudden  change  in  her  destiny. 
Perhaps  it  was  my  wife's  desire  to  fathom  that  mystery 
which  almost  led  me  to  touch  upon  it  with  our  friend. 
But  I  checked  myself,  recollecting  how  long  it  had 
remained  an  unexplained  and  apparently  inexplicable 
secret,  and  satisfied  that  Brewster  and  Isabel  would 
never  be  drawn  nearer  together  than  the  union  of  his 
daughter  and  her  son,  if  that  union  was  ever  to  take 
place,  would  make  them,  I  left  the  subject  just  where 
she  chose  it  should  remain.  I  asked  my  wife,  however, 
if  she  were  now  prepared  to  receive  the  dress  which  I 
had  contingently  promised  her  nearly  twenty  years  be- 
fore ;  and  as  she  replied  that  she  was,  I  went  to  a  shop 
and  bought  for  her  the  handsomest  silk  I  could  afford. 
This,  I  considered,  closed  all  expectation  of  seeing  Mrs. 
Gascoigne  become  Mrs.  Brewster.  On  what  might 
happen  to  the  young  people  I  should  not  have  offered 
or  taken  a  wager.  I  had  plenty  of  hopes  and  some 
fears.  James,  I  fancy,  had  about  an  equal  amount  of 
both.  His  mother  was  rather  despondent  after  their 
visit  to  Detroit.  I  asked  her  to  give  me  her  impres- 
sions. She  said  that  James  had  a  long  interview  with 
Margaret  on  the  day  before  they  came  away,  but  she 
could  only  infer  that  Margaret,  although  gentle  and 
kind,  had  given  him  no  encouragement.  Mrs.  Gas- 
coigne thought  that  the  only  solution  of  his  failure  in 
his  suit  was  that  Margaret  was  a  girl  who  looked  for 
something  more  in  a  man  than  an  amiable  disposition, 
good  character,  and  purity  of  life.  She  did  not  profess 
to  see  what  would  be  the  effect  on  him,  or  what  might 
happen  to  change  the  young  lady's  feelings.  All  that 
she  now  felt  confident  of  was  that  James  could  not  give 
up  every  hope. 

Tu        q  21 


242  JOHN  CHARAxES, 

CHAPTEE  XYI. 

A   PERFECTLY   RATIONAL   FEMALE    QUIXOTE. 

"When  Mrs.  Gascoigne  told  her  son,  before  their 
Christmas  visit  to  Mr.  Charaxes,  that  it  would  do  him 
a  great  deal  of  good  to  try  and  win  the  heart  of  Mar- 
garet Brewster,  she  gave  a  hint  that  she  did  not  fully 
explain.  If  she  was  entirely  sensible  of  the  reason 
why  he  had  not  been  successful,  she  could  not  tell  him 
that  it  was  because  his  life  had  been  too  insignificant 
for  the  indulgence  of  such  a  hope.  She  could  let  him 
know  what  she  thought  of  Margaret,  and  that  she  did 
not  believe  there  was  any  rival  to  be  feared.  But  this 
was  all  she  could  say.  Something,  however,  may  have 
been  said  by  Margaret  to  James  when  he  last  parted 
from  her  which  made  him  feel  keenly  that  he  was  not 
the  kind  of  man  to  gain  her  love.  If  anything  of  this 
nature  was  said,  it  was  doubtless  said  kindly,  for  Mar- 
garet, although  very  frank  and  direct,  was  a  most  gentle 
girl,  and  she  had  nothing  to  reproach  herself  with  in 
her  intercourse  with  James.  The  succeeding  winter 
was  a  dreary  one  for  him.  He  lost  all  interest  in 
amusements  and  went  but  seldom  into  any  of  his  old 
haunts.  As  the  months  wore  away  he  began  to  per- 
ceive that  his  mother  may  have  meant  more  than  she 
could  explain.  His  difficulty  thus  far  had  been  that  he 
could  not  understand  why  a  sincere  affection  was  not 
returned.  He  now  made  a  discovery  that  aroused  in 
him  a  far  greater  energy  than  he  had  ever  before  ex- 
hibited in  his  life  or  had  ever  been  conscious  that  he 
could  put  forth.  It  came  upon  him  about  as  suddenly 
as  the  call  for  volunteers  broke  upon  the  country,  and 
at  the  very  time  when  the  note  of  war  resounded 
through  the  land. 

Did  Margaret  foresee  the  effect  that  she  might  pro- 
duce, or  had  she  any  conscious  purpose  to  bring  it 
about  ?    Probably  not.     I  should  almost  say  certainly 


A   PERFECTLY  RATIONAL  FEMALE  qUIXOTE.     243 

not;  for  she  had  hitherto  regarded  James  as  nothing 
but  a  pleasant  young  man  of  society,  of  good  temper, 
good  principles,  and  an  affectionate  disposition.  She 
had  never  discovered  in  bim  any  force  of  character, 
and  she  probably  did  not  tbink  highly  of  his  abilities. 
James,  however,  under  the  impulse  of  a  hope  that  he 
could  not  abandon,  went  at  his  first  opportunity  into  a 
life  that  was  a  new  one  to  him  and  to  all  who  entered 
it  as  he  did. 

There  had  been  in  Boston,  from  early  colonial  times, 
a  military  organization  known  as  the  '•  Independent 
Cadets."  It  had  a  kind  of  regimental  organization, 
and  its  commander  always  held  the  rank  and  commis- 
sion of  a  colonel.  It  was  rather  an  ornamental  corps, 
— at  least  for  one  or  two  generations  back, — its  chief 
function  being  to  act  as  the  governor's  escort  on  public 
days.  It  was  somewhat  pompously  styled,  "  The  Gov- 
ernor's Body-G-uard."  It  was  composed  of  young  men  of 
the  best  families  in  the  State,  and  the  colonel  was  always 
a  person  of  good  social  standing.  It  had  never  seen  a 
day  of  actual  military  service  since  the  War  of  1812,  but 
it  was  a  well-drilled  and  soldierly  body,  for  a  holiday 
function  ;  and  a  very  good  school,  in  fact,  for  the  forma- 
tion of  officers,  who  would  be  fit  for  real  service  when 
occasion  might  call  for  them.  The  most  notable  occur- 
rence in  its  history,  during  my  time,  was  when  a  rather 
stately  gentleman,  who  held  high  the  dignity  of  the 
office,  was  governor  of  the  State  for  nine  years  ;  an  un- 
exampled endurance  of  popularity  in  a  State  where  the 
elections  were  annual.  It  was  the  custom,  on  the  as- 
sembling of  the  Legislature  early  in  Januarj^,  after  the 
newly-elected  dignitaries  had  taken  the  oath  of  office, 
for  the  governor  and  council  and  the  two  houses  of 
the  Legislature  to  go  in  procession  from  the  State- 
House  to  the  Old  South  Church,  escorted  b}"  the  Cadets, 
to  hear  what  was  called  "the  election  sermon,"  in  which 
the  preacher  generally  treated  any  political  subject  that 
he  chose  to  touch  upon.  It  happened  on  one  of  these 
anniversaries,  an  extremely  cold  daj^,  the  colonel  of  the 
Cadets,  instead  of  marching  his  corps  into  the  church 
alter  the  procession  had  passed  in,  conducted  it  to  a 


244  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

place  of  entertainment  not  far  away, — as  he  afterwards 
said, — for  shelter  from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather  ; 
but  perhaps  to  obtain  some  refreshments  also.  When 
the  services  in  the  church  were  over  and  the  governor 
and  his  staff  and  the  other  magnates  came  out,  the  Ca- 
dets were  not  on  the  ground  to  take  up  the  escort  back 
to  the  State-House.  The  civic  part  of  the  procession 
walked  on,  the  governor  in  dignified  indignation,  and 
when  His  Excellency  had  reached  "  Park  Street  Corner" 
the  Cadets  came  up  at  double-quick,  and  the  colonel 
tendered  the  escort,  with  an  apology.  Neither  escort 
nor  apology  was  received ;  the  governor  strode  on 
and  entered  the  council  chamber  without  any  of  the 
customary  formalities  which  had  always  been  observed^ 
time  out  of  mind.  In  a  few  days  the  colonel  was 
cited  before  a  court-martial,  to  answer  charges  of  neg- 
lect of  duty  and  disrespect  towards  His  Excellency, 
the  commander-in-chief.  The  trial  was  conducted  de 
riguer,  according  to  ail  the  forms ;  it  lasted  six  months, 
cost  a  good  deal  of  money,  and  I  totally  forget  the 
result. 

In  this  military  body  James  Gascoigne  had  been  a 
private  for  some  two  or  three  years  prior  to  the  time 
when  there  was  a  call  for  volunteers  to  defend  the 
Federal  capital  and  the  Federal  authority.  He  had 
learned  a  little,  but  not  much,  of  military  affairs.  It  was 
more  of  a  pastime  with  him  and  a  good  many  of  the 
other  members  than  anything  else:  one  of  the  pleasant 
forms  of  Boston  social  life;  a  matter  of  course,  for  Boston 
men  of  good  family  to  belong  to  the  Cadets.  The  Presi- 
dent's call  for  volunteers  was  instantly  followed  by  the 
organization  of  regiments  throughout  the  loyal  States. 
An  older  friend  of  James's  undertook  to  raise  a  regiment, 
and  was  promised  by  the  governor  the  command  of  it. 
While  they  were  enlisting  men  I  was  a  little  surprised 
one  day  by  the  receipt  of  a  note  from  James,  informing 
me  that  he  was  engaged  in  raising  one  of  the  companies 
for  this  regiment,  and  asking  me  to  apply  to  the  gover- 
nor and  obtain  for  him  a  captain's  commission.  My  first 
thought  was  of  his  mother.  How  would  she  take  it? 
Before  doing  anything  I  determined  to  see  her.    She  told 


A   PERFECTLY  RATIONAL   FEMALE  QUIXOTE.      245 

me  that  she  had  observed  for  some  weeks  that  James 
was  beginning  to  manifest  an  energy  that  she  had  never 
seen  in  him  before.  It  might  be  the  influence  of  his 
associates  and  their  example  that  was  operating  on 
him.  But  she  thought  that  there  was  perhaps  another 
stimulus.  When  I  told  her  that  he  was  about  to  take 
an  irrevocable  step  from  which  he  could  not  withdraw 
with  honor,  and  therefore  that  if  she  were- to  interpose 
any  objection  she  must  do  it  before  the  commisson  was 
asked  for,  she  turned  very  pale.  She  inquired  whether 
any  sum  of  money  that  she  could  give  to  the  expenses 
of  raising  and  equipping  the  regiment  would  not  be 
considered  as  her  quota  of  contribution  to  the  public 
interests,  without  giving  up  her  son  to  this  dreadful 
war.  She  was  both  able  and  willing  to  give  a  large 
amount.  "  No,"  I  said,  "  money  is  not  needed,  although 
you  can  give  wiiatever  you  think  fit,  and  you  had  better 
do  so.  It  is  men  that  are  wanted  ;  and  James  should 
not  be  behind  his  equals." 

"An  only  son,"  she  said, — "  an  only  child, — must  I 
give  him  up  ?  Oh,  my  old  friend,  you  have  been  the 
friend  of  nearly  my  whole  life,  help  me  to  avert  this 
trial." 

"  I  will  help  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  in  the 
only  way  I  can  ;  I  firmly  advise  you  to  make  the  sac- 
rifice, trusting  that  God  will  bring  out  of  it,  in  some 
way,  blessing  and  remuneration  for  all  that  you  suffer. 
We  cannot  tell  how  Providence  will  reward  you,  but 
James  must  be  allowed  to  obey  the  influence  which 
impels  him,  whatever  it  may  be,  and  wherever  it  may 
lead." 

I  spoke  with  some  energy,  for  I  knew  that  there 
was  no  one  else  who  would  so  speak  to  her,  and  I  had 
great  confidence  that  she  would  act  as  became  her. 
She  dried  the  tears  that  flowed  fraely  while  we  were 
speaking,  and  then,  with  entire  composure,  after  a  little 
while,  she  said,  ''  1  believe  it  must  be  as  you  say ;  write 
to  the  governor,  or  see  him.     I  consent." 

From  that  day  Isabel  was  calm  and  firm,  but  I  will 
not  say  that  she  did  not  suffer.  The  imaginations  of 
women  are  apt  to  exaggerate  the  personal  dangers  of 

21* 


246  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

war ;  but  we  men  can  know  but  little  of  what  such  a 
woman  as  Isabel  must  undergo  when  called  upon  to 
give  up  to  all  the  hazards  of  war  an  only  son  who  had 
been  reared  as  James  had  been  and  from  whom  she  had 
never  been  separated  for  a  day  since  he  was  born. 
She  busied  herself  at  once  with  energy  and  judgment 
in  the  affairs  of  the  regiment,  spent  money  freely  in  the 
purchase  of  materials,  threw  open  her  house  to  an  as- 
sociation of  ladies  who  worked  in  making  clothing  for 
the  soldiers,  and  superintended  the  work  herself.  Dinah 
undertook  James's  personal  outfit,  by  her  mistress's  per- 
mission. It  was  v«ry  diverting  to  witness  that  good 
creature's  perplexity  about  the  war.  She  had  a  vague 
idea  that  it  was  something  that  concerned  her  own 
race  in  some  way,  because  she  heard  people  say  so ; 
but  she  did  not  understand  it.  She  wondered  whether 
Mass'  Julius  Pringle  and  Mass'  James  would  meet  and 
fight.  Mass'  Julius  was  her  paragon  of  a  young  gen- 
tleman when  she  was  in  the  land  where  she  was  born, 
as  he  was  with  most  people  in  his  neighborhood,  white 
or  colored.  He  must,  when  the  war  began,  have  been 
between  forty  and  fifty,  and  very  likely  he  would  be 
an  officer  in  the  Confederate  army.  Dinah,  however, 
always  continued  to  think  of  him  as  he  was  at  two-and- 
twenty,  when  he  killed  the  rattlesnake  which  she  de- 
scribed at  Gascoigne  House.  Mass'  James  had  been  all 
his  life  her  other  idol,  since  she  brought  him  from  Eng- 
land as  his  nurse  when  he  was  three  years  old.  Kow 
that  he  was  going  to  the  war,  she  rather  aggravated 
his  mother's  anxieties,  but  she  worked  for  him  in  pre- 
paring every  possible  comfort,  and  a  good  part  of  it  con- 
sisted in  things  with  which  he  could  not  encumber  him- 
self and  for  which  he  could  have  no  use.  But  the  love 
and  devotion  shown  were  all  the  same. 

The  regiment  went  into  camp  for  a  short  time,  two 
or  three  miles  out  of  Boston,  for  drill  and  instruction. 
James  studied  the  military  art  most  diligently,  and  he 
very  soon  became  the  most  useful  and  efficient  captain 
in  the  regiment.  His  influence  over  his  men  was  re- 
markable, and  under  him  they  learned  a  great  deal. 
Pretty  soon  this  infantry  regiment  was  transferred  to 


A  PERFECTLY  RATIONAL  FEMALE  QUIXOTE.     247 

■Washington  and  mustered  into  the  service  of  the 
United  States.  It  formed  part  of  the  troops  that, 
along  with  other  immense  bodies,  were  organized  into 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac  in  the  summer  and  autumn 
of  1861. 

In  the  month  of  ^N'ovember,  the  young  general, 
McClellan,  who  had  achieved  in  the  West  almost  the 
only  success  that  had  hitherto  attended  the  Federal 
arms  in  an}'  part  of  the  country,  was  called  to  Wash- 
ington and  invested  with  the  command  of  all  the 
forces  there.  He  had  some  distant  relatives  in  Boston, 
who  offered  Mrs.  Gascoigne  a  letter  introducing  to 
him  her  son.  The  ideas  then  entertained  by  people  in 
general  of  military  affairs  were  pretty  indefinite,  but 
Mrs.  Gascoigne  accepted  the  friendly  offer  as  a  great 
kindness,  and  forwarded  the  letter  to  James.  It  spoke 
of  him  as  an  energetic  and  intelligent  young  officer  in 
one  of  the  Massachusetts  regiments.  I  backed  it  by 
other  testimonials.  James  left  the  letter  at  the  gen- 
eral's head-quarters,  not  expecting  that  any  particular 
notice  would  be  taken  of  it.  It  happened,  however, 
that  the  general,  at  about  that  time,  was  making  up 
his  staff,  and  was  inquiring  about  the  best  officers 
among  the  volunteers.  He  sent  for  James,  was  pleased 
with  him,  and,  having  learned  more  about  him  in  a 
day  or  two,  he  caused  him  to  be  detailed  from  his  regi- 
ment, and  appointed  him  junior  aide.  In  that  capacity- 
James  went  with  the  general  when  he  led  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  upon  the  Peninsula.  Captain  Gascoigne 
soon  became  noted  for  his  gallantry,  intelligence,  and  ac- 
tivity. All  through  the  siege  of  Yorktown,  the  pursuit 
of  the  Confederates  towards  Eichmond,  and  wherever 
the  general  had  to  be,  Gascoigne  was  constantly  with 
him  and  constantly  rising  in  the  estimation  of  the  com- 
mander and  the  army.  Before  the  army  reached  and 
was  detained  at  the  Chickahominy  by  floods  and  other 
obstructions  he  was  more  than  once  commended  in 
the  general's  despatches  to  the  War  Department,  and 
recommended  for  a  command.  But  the  general's  rec- 
ommendations were  not  always  attended  to.  Just  here 
I  must  leave  my  young  friend,  for  I  have  to  tell  of  one 


248  JOHN   CHAR  AXES. 

whose  silent  influence  was  the  real  cause  of  his  enter- 
ing upon  the  life  into  which  he  had  thrown  himself 
and  which  was  developing  in  him  something  that  no 
one  had  anticipated. 

About  a  month  before  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
was  transferred  from  Washington  to  the  Peninsula, 
Margaret  Brewster  disclosed  to  her  father  a  plan  that 
she  had  formed  for  doing  some  service  to  the  Federal 
cause.  She  had  been  quite  active,  along  with  her  aunt, 
in  the  work  which  the  ladies  of  her  native  city,  as 
elsewhere,  did  for  the  volunteers.  But  this  kind  of 
work  did  not  satisfy  her ;  she  wanted  another  sphere, 
in  which  she  could  find  direct  activity  in  the  exercise 
of  her  energies.  She  thought  of  a  plan  for  joining  the 
army  in  some  capacity  of  a  lady-nurse  for  the  sick  and 
wounded.  Such  a  scheme  must  have  been  very  crude 
in  her  first  thoughts,  for  a  young  woman  of  her  age 
and  position.  After  she  had  matured  it  as  well  as  she 
could  by  her  unassisted  reflections  and  inquiries  she 
broached  it  to  her  father.  He  was  rather  surprised, 
but  he  listened  to  her,  as  he  always  did.  When  she 
had  given  him  a  general  idea  of  it,  he  said, — 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  does  Aunt  Elizabeth  say  to 
this?" 

"  I  have  not  mentioned  it  to  her,"  Margaret  replied. 
"  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  consult  you  first." 

"  But  how  is  such  a  thing  possible  ?"  her  fiither  asked  ; 
"  how  could  it  be  worked  out  by  a  young  lady  like  you?" 

"I  must  have  suitable  attendants,  of  course,  women 
and  men  and  all  proper  appliances.  I  know  of  a  very 
good  woman,  of  mature  age,  whom  I  could  take  as  my 
principal  assistant.  Why  could  I  not  have  a  vehicle  built 
that  would  be  both  a  travelling-carriage  and  an  ambu- 
lance, and  fill  it  with  everything  needful  ?" 

"  What  is  an  ambulance?"  Mr.  Brewster  inquired. 

"  I  have  understood  that  it  is  a  vehicle  for  the  trans- 
portation of  the  sick  and  wounded.  They  are  prepar- 
ing some  of  them  in  Washington  now.  The  whole  plan 
would  cost  a  considerable  sum,  but  the  establishment 
would  be  my  own  and  under  my  control,  if  the  military 
authorities  should  accept  my  offer." 


A   PERFECTLY  RATIONAL   FEMALE  QUIXOTE.      249 

'•'  I  do  not  mind  about  the  expense.  I  must  give 
money  in  some  way  to  the  expenses  of  this  war,  and  I 
may  as  well  contribute  it  in  one  way  as  in  another. 
But  to  give  an  only  daughter  to  such  a  service  is  an- 
other matter.  What  is  it  that  has  led  you  to  think  of 
this?" 

"  It  is  only  the  belief  that  I  can  do  good  and  give  a 
good  example,  and  because  I  feel  that  I  have  the  power 
to  carry  it  out." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  will  think  of  it  and  will  make  some 
inquiries.  The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  ascertain  if 
the  government  will  accept  such  a  volunteer.  But  I 
think  Aunt  Elizabeth's  judgment  on  the  whole  plan,  in 
regard  to  the  feasibility  of  such  an  undertaking  by  a 
young  lady,  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  She  can  de- 
termine better  than  I  can,  after  she  learns  all  the  details. 
I  have  never  known  her  judgment  to  be  at  fault." 

After  some  correspondence  with  the  military  author- 
ities in  Washington  it  was  found  that  the  offer  would  be 
accepted,  and  that  ]\Iargaret  and  her  people  could  have 
all  the  protection  in  the  field  that  could  be  afforded  to 
any  non-combatants.  Miss  Brewster,  when  she  under- 
stood the  plan  and  found  that  Margaret  could  be  pro- 
vided with  the  proper  attendants,  gave  her  consent. 
Mr.  Brewster  at  once  set  about  the  necessary  prepara- 
tions. The  carriage  was  built  under  Margaret's  di- 
rections, and  equipped  with  everj^thing  that  could  be 
useful  for  such  a  purpose.  Her  father  accompanied 
her  into  Virginia  until  she  had  reached  General  Mc- 
Dowell's corps,  then  marching  under  orders  to  effect  a 
junction  with  McClellan's  right  wing.  He  then  left 
her  and  her  attendants  in  communication  with  one  of 
McDowell's  lieutenants,  to  whom  the  plan  was  ex- 
plained. Before  she  left  home  Mr.  Charaxes  presented 
her  with  a  considerable  sum  of  money  in  gold  and  per- 
sonally attended  to  the  selection  and  instruction  of  two 
men  who  were  to  go  with  her,  as  a  kind  of  body-guard. 
One  of  them  was  an  Arab,  who,  about  a  yeav  before, 
had  brought  over  some  horses  which  Mr.  Charaxes  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  import  from  Syria.  He  was  a  tall, 
muscular  man,  of  great  gravity  and  taciturnity.   When 


250  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

he  understood  that  this  young  lady  and  her  female  at- 
tendant were  to  be  under  his  special  charge  he  became 
graver  than  ever.  He  seemed  never  to  need  sleep,  and 
wherever  they  rested  he  mounted  guard  all  night,  with 
a  drawn  sabre  in  his  hand  and  pistols  in  his  belt,  stand- 
ing bolt  upright  at  the  door  of  the  house  or  before  the 
tent  where  they  slept.  When  Margaret  was  moving 
about  or  anywhere  visible,  this  man's  eye,  although  he 
did  not  seem  to  be  watching  her,  was  never  turned 
from  her.  The  other  man  was  a  half-breed  Indian, 
whom  Mr.  Charaxes  obtained  from  Canada, — one  of 
those  persons  who  are  so  useful  as  guides.  He  had  ex- 
traordinary skill  in  purveying  and  cooking. 

Mr.  Charaxes  paid  these  men  enormously  high  wages, 
and  whether  they  served  for  anything  but  gold  or 
because  they  became  interested  in  the  welfare  of  the 
young  lady,  they  were  both  eminently  trustworthy.  I 
have  understood  that  the  old  gentleman,  after  Marga- 
ret had  done  with  them,  sent  the  Arab  back  to  Syria 
with  money  that  would  have  bought  a  moderate  cara- 
van, and  pensioned  the  Canadian  boatman  for  life. 

My  readers  will,  perhaps,  be  curious  to  learn  whether 
Margaret  had  been  influenced  by  the  idea  that  she 
might  be  helpful  in  some  way  to  the  young  man  who 
had  so  long  sought  her  love.  It  may  be  supposed  that, 
if  she  had  much  tenderness  in  her  nature,  she  could  not 
help  thinking  of  him  with  some  interest.  As  what  I 
have  related  of  her  conversation  with  her  father  and 
what  I  am  to  tell  in  addition  I  received  from  herself  at 
iMY  house  in  Boston,  after  her  campaigning  was  over, 
I  can  enlighten  the  reader's  curiosity.  Just  before 
James  and  his  mother  returned  home  from  their  visit 
to  Mr.  Charaxes  in  December,  1860,  he  asked  Marga- 
ret if  he  might  write  to  her.  She  said  it  would  not  be 
best  for  either  of  them,  and  he  could  only  acquiesce  in 
her  decision.  She  did  not  know  that  he  had  entered 
the  army  until  after  she  had  reached  that  part  of  Vir- 
ginia where  operations  were  going  on.  She  then  heard 
of  him  accidentally.  When  Greneral  McDowell's  for- 
ward movement  was  arrested,  by  orders  from  Wash- 
ington, Margaret,  who  was  at  liberty  to  go  within  the 


A   PERFECTLY  RATIONAL  FEMALE  QUIXOTE.     251 


Federal  lines  wherever  she  thought  proper,  came  with 
her  establiijhment  and  servants  into  the  neighborhood 
of  General  Fitz- John  Porter's  command,  which  consti- 
tuted the  extreme  right  of  McClellan's  army.  One  day 
she  heard  an  officer  speak  of  Captain  Gascoigne  as  a 
member  of  General  McClellan's  staff;  she  inquired  if  he 
was  from  Boston,  and  was  told  who  he  was  and  that  he 
was  reputed  to  be  a  very  distinguished  young  officer  in 
much  favor  at  the  head-quarters  of  the  army.  She 
concluded  that  he  would  be  exposed  to  hazards  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duties  as  an  aide  in  such  engagements 
as  were  now  taking  place  every  day  and  almost  every 
night,  and  she  therefore  moved  on  as  fast  as  was  practi- 
cable towards  the  point  which  the  columns  were  aiming 
to  reach  by  the  flank  movement  to  the  James ;  and 
during  the  Seven  Days,  after  each  engagement,  she  did 
what  she  could  in  the  care  of  the  wounded,  and  often 
did  for  the  Confederates  who  were  taken  prisoners  just 
as  she  did  for  the  Federalists  who  had  been  wounded 
and  had  not  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Thus 
she  happened  to  be  near  Harrison's  Landing  on  the  first 
day  of  July,  which  witnessed  the  end  of  the  toilsome 
and  perilous  march  of  the  army  of  the  Potomac  to  a 
new  base  on  the  James.  What  occurred  there  the 
reader  will  learn  from  a  subsequent  chapter.  It  will 
appear  that  James,  from  his  position  on  General  Mc- 
Clellan's staff,  must  have  heard  of  the  lady  who  was 
known  at  head-quarters  to  be  somewhere  with  the  right 
wing,  with  a  novel  but  very  useful  kind  of  establish- 
ment. In  a  short  time  her  name  became  known  among 
the  officers  surrounding  General  McClellan,  and  James 
heard  it.  But  while  the  effect  on  him  was  naturally 
a  new  and  stronger  impulse  to  exertion,  his  duties  ren- 
dered it  impossible  for  him  to  make  any  special  effort 
to  meet  whh  her. 


252  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    ROMANCE    MAY    OR    MAY    NOT    COME. 

The  flank  movement  of  the  Array  of  the  Potomac 
from  its  position  in  front  of  Eiehmond  to  the  James 
Eiver  in  the  summer  of  1862  is  historical.  iXo  more 
difficult  or  more  brilliant  achievement  of  the  same  kind 
is  recorded  in  military  annals.  The  Federal  commander 
had  been  baffled  by  his  own  government,  which  had  by 
its  ordei-s  prevented  the  junction  with  his  right  wing 
of  the  troops  on  which  he  relied  to  enable  him  to  con- 
front the  superior  forces  of  the  Confederates.  This 
junction  had  been  expressly  promised  to  him;  the 
promise  was  broken,  and  he  had  to  save  his  army  by 
marching  it  to  a  new  base  of  supply  on  his  left  or  see 
it  cut  to  pieces.  All  the  world  has  heard  of  the  Seven 
Days  of  marching  and  lighting  through  which  that 
new  base  was  found.  The  persons  in  whom  I  hope 
the  readers  of  these  memoirs  are  interested  were  but 
a  little  fraction  of  that  vast  host;  and  it  is  only  on 
account  of  what  befell  my  friends  on  the  last  day  of 
that  struggle  that  I  am  to  speak  of  these  events. 

The  final  engagement  took  place  at  or  near  ati  eleva- 
tion called  3Ialvern  HiU.  There  the  Federal  commander 
made  in  person  the  disposition  of  his  troops  to  await 
and  repel  the  last  attack  of  the  enemy.  The  hill  covered 
an  area  of  three  and  a  half  miles.  It  was  well  cleared 
of  trees  and  was  crossed  by  several  converging  roads. 
In  front  there  were  defensible  ravines;  the  ground 
sloping  orradually  towards  the  north-east,  giving  clear 
ranges'  for  artillery  in  that  direction.  Towards  the 
north  the  descent  was  sharper,  into  a  ravine  that  ex- 
tended to  the  river.  The  attack  was  to  be  expected  on 
the  left  wing  of  the  Federal  army,  which  rested  on  the 
hill.  It  was  here  that  the  troops  were  massed.  Hav- 
ino:  made  these  dispositions,  the  commanding  general 
returned  to  his  right  wing,  which  curved  backward 


THE  ROMANCE  MAY  OR  MAY  NOT  COME.     253 

towards  a  point  on  the  James.  The  battle  lasted  from 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  nine  at  night.  If  the 
enemy  could  be  repulsed,  the  Arm}"  of  the  Potomac 
would  be  saved.  It  was  the  last  engagement  in  w^hich 
McClellan  personally  commanded  during  his  campaign 
in  Virginia. 

At  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  it  became  neces- 
sary for  the  general  to  direct  the  movement  of  certain 
brigades  from  the  right  to  reinforce  the  left  of  the  hne, 
where  fresh  troops  of  the  enemy  were  accumulating 
and  where  the  ammunition  had  become  exhausted  dur- 
ing the  day.  The  situation  was  so  critical  that  if  the 
reinforcements  did  not  reach  the  left  Aving  in  time  it 
would,  in  all  probability,  be  crushed.  To  carry  the 
general's  verbal  message  was  a  dangerous  duty,  for  the 
regiments  that  were  to  be  sent  to  the  left  had  to  be 
withdrawn  from  corps  that  were  still  fighting.  At  the 
moment  when  it  became  necessary  to  send  this  order, 
Captain  Gascoigne  was  the  only  aide  at  the  general's 
side.  In  terse  and  brief  words  the  general  explained 
the  movement  to  the  young  officer,  and  then  said, 
"  Captain,  this  may  be  a  dangerous  duty,  but  I  know 
that  you  will  perform  it  gallantly.  Take  an  orderly, 
and  ma}'  God  protect  you!  "VYe  are  all  in  his  hands!" 
Gascoigne  touched  his  cap,  and,  followed  by  the  orderly, 
rode  rapidly  away.  His  route  lay  directly  to  the  front, 
where  the  officer  in  command  of  the  troops  that  were 
to  be  withdrawn  was  stationed,  and  a  galling  fire  of 
musketry  swept  over  the  space  which  Gascoigne  had 
to  cross.  He  was  seen,  and  before  he  could  reach  the 
officer  to  whom  the  order  was  to  be  given  he  was  struck 
b}'  a  bullet  in  his  side,  which  curved  round  into  his  back. 
Driving  the  spurs  into  the  flanks  of  his  horse,  he  rushed 
on,  met  the  commander  of  the  division,  delivered  the 
order  clearly  and  precisely,  and  then  sank  to  the  ground. 
The  wound  bled  freely.  The  orderly,  who  was  unhurt, 
placed  the  poor  fellow  on  a  bank,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
a  surgeon  appeared.  There  was  but  a  desperate  chance 
of  saving  him,  and  that  chance  depended  upon  his 
being  at  once  removed.  He  was  carried,  as  soon  as 
means  could  be  procured,  to  a  large  house  near  Harri- 

22 


254  JOHN   CHARAXES. 

son's  Landing,  which  was  already  filled  with  wounded 
men,  brought  in  as  the  day  was  closing. 

And  now,  is  that  young  life  to  end,  cut  off  by  one  of 
many  thousand  bullets  hissing  through  the  air,  some  of 
which  strike  down  their  victims,  while  others  fall  in 
remote  places,  innoxious,  to  the  earth  ?  Oh,  God ! 
what  is  the  dire  necessity  that  compels  these  sacrifices 
of  precious  lives,  while  at  home  anxious  hearts  are 
trembling  and  praying  for  the  loved  ones  who  may 
and  may  not  return  ? 

At  nine  o'clock  on  that  last  of  the  Seven  Days,  when 
the  fighting  was  over,  the  commanding  general  did 
one  of  those  acts  which  made  him  so  dear  to  his  sol- 
diers. He  rode  to  the  house  where  so  many  of  his 
wounded  men  lay  writhing  in  agony,  and  passed  from 
one  to  another,  soothing  and  cheering  them,  telling 
them  that  the  army  was  saved  by  what  they  had  done. 
At  length  he  stood  by  a  cot  where  his  young  aide  was 
stretched,  on  whose  gallantry  the  whole  of  the  last  move- 
ment turned.  With  a  heart  almost  breaking  he  said 
a  few  words  to  the  surgeon.  He  did  not  venture  to 
speak  to  James,  but  he  thought  of  the  lines, — 

"  A  soldier  of  the  Legion  lay  dying  in  Algiers, 
There   was    lack   of  woman's   nursing,  there  was    dearth   of 
woman's  tears." 

He  could  not  remain.  As  he  was  leaving  the  house 
an  ambulance,  drawn  by  two  strong  horses  driven  at 
full  speed,  dashed  up  to  the  door.  A  young  lady  in  a 
plain  blue  dress,  with  a  small  tricolored  cord  around 
her  hat,  descended  from  the  vehicle,  followed  by  a 
middle-aged  woman  similarly  attired,  and  two  men  in 
livery.  The  general  had  never  seen  the  young  lady 
before,  but  he  had  often  heard  of  her,  and  now  had  no 
difiiculty  in  knowing  who  she  was.  Lifting  his  hat, 
he  said,  '-You  are  Miss  Brewster,  I  presume.  Will 
you  take  my  arm  ?" 

"  Can  you  conduct  me  to  Captain  Gascoigne,  general?" 
He  took  her  directly  to  the  cot  where  the  young  offi- 
cer lay.     His  ej-es  were  closed,  his  senses  dazed.     The 
surgeon  was  making  his  prehminary  preparations  to 


THE  ROMANCE  MAY  OR   MAY  NOT  COME.      255 

probe  the  wound.     The  lady  drew  nearer,  bent  over 
the  sufferer,  and  his  hand  was  closed  in  hers. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?"  she  asked. 

He  opened  his  eyes,  tried  in  the  dim  light  to  read  her 
face,  thoucrht  that  he  knew  the  voice, — but  no,  it  could 
not  be.  His  eyes  closed  again, — his  mind  wandered. 
She  whispered  for  a  moment  to  the  surgeon,  who  nodded 
an  assent.  She  then  again  touched  his  hand,  saying, 
"  James,  it  is  Margaret  Brewster."  Then  she  bent 
down  to  his  ear  and  said,  "  You  must  be  very  quiet.  I 
have  everything  ready  here.  I  shall  not  leave  you  ; 
my  people  are  bringing  in  what  you  need,  but  you 
must  be  very  still." 

"  Oh,  Margaret,  is  it  you  ?  or  is  it  an  angel  ?  Tell 
me,  am  I  to  die  ?" 

"  I  hope  not,  but  you  must  lie  very  still." 

^'  But  tell  me,  if  3'ou  are  Margaret,  how  did  you 
know — how  did  you  come  ?" 

"  I  came  through  the  Confederate  lines  ;  they  did  not 
molest  me.  I  had  done  something  for  their  wounded. 
As  soon  as  I  got  among  our  own  troops  an  officer  told 
me  that  you  were  wounded  and  had  been  brought 
here.  But  now  do  not  try  to  talk.  I  shall  not  leave 
you  ;  let  that  be  enough." 

The  general,  who  stood  a  little  back,  did  not  bear 
what  was  said,  but  he  saw  that  these  two  persons  were 
not  strangers  to  each  other,  and  he  surmised  a  great 
deal.  He  spoke  to  Margaret  in  a  low  tone,  pressing 
her  hand.  "  I  leave  him  in  good  care  ;  send  to  head- 
quarters if  you  need  anything.  The  enemy  are  with- 
drawing ;  you  are  entirely  safe  here." 

He  then  went  out,  mounted  his  horse,  and,  after  he 
had  spoken  to  an  officer  who  commanded  the  guard 
stationed  at  the  house,  he  galloped  swiftly  away,  fol- 
lowed by  two  orderlies.  Far  off,  along  the  road  which 
he  took,  the  cheers  of  the  troops  broke  wildly  on  the 
night  as  they  cried,  "  God  bless  you,  little  Mac  !"  The 
crews  of  the  gunboats  that  lay  in  the  river  caught 
and  echoed  the  cheers. 

The  long  night  wore  away.  The  distant  boom  of 
cannon  broke  occasionally  upon  the  ear,  but  ere  long 


256  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

the  Confederates  retired.  The  surgeon  did  not  ven- 
ture to  probe  the  wound.  James  appeared  for  some 
hours  to  be  sinking.  Margaret  sat  by  him  all  night, 
administering  anodynes  and  stimulants.  The  tall  Arab 
stood  just  within  the  door,  where  he  could  see  her,  and 
through  the  whole  night  he  never  changed  his  position 
or  looked  away  from  her.  The  other  man  brought  her 
what  she  needed.  As  the  day  began  to  break,  nature 
asserted  the  force  of  a  strong  constitution.  James 
rallied  sufficiently  to  be  carried  on  a  stretcher  on 
board  of  a  steamer  that  lay  in  the  river.  Margaret  and 
her  retinue  came  with  him  to  New  York.  There  his 
mother  and  Dinah  met  them.  Margaret  had  informed 
Mrs.  G-ascoigne  by  telegraph  that  James  was  wounded, 
and  had  given  the  name  of  the  vessel  by  which  he 
was  to  be  taken  to  New  York.  I  offered  to  accom- 
pany the  distressed  mother,  but  she  thought  I  could 
be  more  serviceable  by  remaining  at  home  and  assist- 
ing to  receive  James.  She  was  wonderfully  calm,  but 
none  of  us  then  knew  how  bad  the  case  was.  Bullet- 
wounds  are  very  uncertain  things ;  "  unco  rash,  un- 
canny things,"  as  Edie  Ochiltree  said  of  the  "fugie- 
warrants."  Sometimes  the  treatment  of  such  wounds 
is  very  simple,  and  sometimes  the  case  baffles  the 
highest  surgical  skill. 

Margaret  also  telegraphed  to  her  father  to  come  to 
New  York.  When  he  arrived  there  be  found  her  and 
her  servants  at  another  hotel  than  the  one  where  she 
had  placed  James  in  his  mother's  care.  When  Brewster 
and  his  daughter  were  alone  together  she  said  to  him, 
in  all  the  frankness  and  directness  of  her  nature,  "  My 
dear  father,  you  have  long  known  that  James  Gas- 
coigne  loves  me,  and  that  I  have  not  returned  his  love. 
But  it  is  now  different.  He  has  gained  a  high  reputa- 
tion in  the  army,  and  he  has  done  a  great  and  heroic 
action.  I  can  now  respect  him  as  well  as  love  him.  I 
suppose  that  I  may  have  saved  his  life  by  my  acciden- 
tal presence  with  the  army.  I  shall  marry  him  if  ho 
lives,  and  if  he  should  die  I  shall  still  wish  that  we  may 
be  united,  if  it  is  possible." 

"  My  child,''  said  her  father,  "  you  have  made  him 


THE  ROMANCE  MAY  OR  MAY  NOT  COME.      257 

worthy  of  your  love,  and  I  am  rejoiced  that  you  can 
give  it  to  him.  But  now  come  home  with  me,  and  let 
us  wait  to  learn  the  result  of  the  examination  which 
the  surgeons  here  are  to  make.  Probably  it  will  not 
be  best  for  me  to  see  him  in  his  very  weak  state.  But 
you  can  tell  him  when  you  take  leave  of  him — I  sup- 
pose your  purpose  is  or  will  be  known  to  him — that  he 
has  my  blessing  and  my  consent.  Such  a  love  as  his 
has  been,  when  he  learns  that  it  is  returned,  ought  to 
give  him  a  new  life." 

Margaret  did  not  see  James  again  in  ]S'ew  York. 
She  went  to  the  hotel  and  asked  to  see  Mrs.  Gascoigne. 
Isabel  said  that  two  of  the  most  eminent  surgeons  of 
that  city  had  found  it  impossible  at  present  to  trace  the 
course  of  the  ball ;  they  had  recommended  that  James 
be  taken  home  to  Boston,  and  that  after  he  had  recov- 
ered a  little  strength  the  final  effort  should  be  made  to 
reach  and  extract  the  bullet.  This  gave  a  new  turn  to 
Margaret's  determination,  for  it  made  it  necessary  for 
her  to  see  James  either  before  or  immediately  after  the 
operation.  But  she  told  his  mother  that  when  it  would 
be  safe  for  her  to  see  him  he  would  know  what  she 
meant  when  she  said,  "I  shall  not  leave  you." 

How  shall  I  describe  Isabel's  joy?  The  hope  of 
years  had  come  to  gladden  her.  She  pressed  Margaret 
to  her  bosom  ;  she  poured  out  her  heart  to  the  girl : 
"  My  child,  my  child,  you  are  my  daughter  now;  if  he 
lives  you  will  be  his  wife, — if  he  dies  you  will  be  united 
in  heaven."  It  was  arranged  between  them  that  Mar- 
garet should  follow  them  to  Boston,  and  that  James 
should  know  of  her  intention  to  do  so,  but  that  Mar- 
garet should  not  see  him  now. 

Brewster  hesitated  whether  he  should  accompany  his 
daughter.  She  might  go  under  the  protection  of  her 
own  servants,  and  might  come  to  my  house.  Finally, 
however,  he  decided  to  go  with  her,  for  the  marriage 
might  take  place  very  soon,  and  he  ought  certainly  to 
be  there  and  give  her  away.  James  was  brought  by 
his  mother  and  Dinah  and  two  male  attendants  on  a 
special  train.  The  journey  was  made  with  several  stops, 
and  he  bore  it  well,  until  he  was  safely  deposited  in  his 
r  22* 


258  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

own  room  in  his  mother's  house.  Brewster  and  his 
daughter  came  directly  to  my  modest  little  establish- 
ment, and  my  wife,  by  good  management,  provided 
comfortably  for  them  and  placed  their  servants  in  lodg- 
ings near  by. 

And  now  the  anxious  day  approached.  The  sur- 
geons had  great  difficulty  in  fixing  with  certainty  the 
spot  where  the  bullet  had  lodged,  but  there  was  some 
indication  that  it  lay  close  to  the  spine.  They  were 
told  by  Mrs.  Grascoigne  of  the  tender  secret  that  must 
be  communicated  to  James  before  or  after  the  final  op- 
eration. One  of  them  was  a  man  of  great  experience 
and  wisdom.  To  him  his  younger  colleagues  deferred. 
He  said  that  he  felt  entire  confidence  in  the  operation, 
and  that  even  if  James  should  not  recover  from  the  ef- 
fects of  the  wound,  he  would  not  die  suddenly.  It  was 
here,  therefore,  that  Margaret's  firmness  was  put  to  its 
greatest  trial.  Softening  and  penetrating  her  remark- 
able self-control  had  come  the  tenderness  that  she  had 
not  before  been  conscious  was  an  undeveloped  part  of 
her  nature,  and  that  now  longed  to  be  spoken  in  the 
holy  name  of  wife.  But  she  was  patient  and  composed. 
She  was  with  Mrs.  G-ascoigne,  in  an  adjoining  room, 
when  the  surgeons  did  their  final  work.  The  two 
women  held  each  other's  hands,  they  sat  still,  they 
whispered  little  praj^ers.  The  surgeons  came  out,  after 
a  long  suspense,  leaving  their  patient  with  the  nurse. 
Everything  was  well,  they  said ;  the  suff'erer  had  suffi- 
cient strength.  He  would  live,  but  there  must  be  many 
days  yet  before  he  could  bear  any  excitement.  Mar- 
garet stole  down-stairs  and  joined  her  father  and  me  in 
the  parlor.  Mrs.  Gascoigne  did  not  come  down.  Dinah 
followed  us  to  the  front  door,  her  honest  face  beaming 
with  joy.  "  Miss  Margrit,"  she  said,  "  yeou  hev  saved 
him." 

James's  recovery  was  more  rapid  than  any  of  us  had 
expected.  At  the  end  of  three  weeks  his  mother,  one 
da}',  prepared  him  for  a  visit  from  Margaret.  He  had 
been  dressed  and  was  able  to  sit  up.  "  Do  you  remem- 
ber, dear,"  she  said,  "  that  Margaret  told  you  on  that 
dreadful  night  at  Harrison's  Landing  that  she  should 


THE  ROMANCE  MAY  OR   MAY  NOT  COME.      259 

not  leave  you?  "What  did  you  suppose  she  meant? 
Did  you  think  that  she  meant  only  that  she  would  see 
to  your  welfare  as  she  would  care  for  any  of  the  wounded 
men  whom  she  was  accustomed  to  provide  for  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,  mamma,  what  I  thought.  It  was 
so  long  since  I  had  given  up  all  hope  that  Margaret 
would  change." 

"  Take  a  new  hope,  dearest.  Margaret's  words  meant 
a  great  deal.  When  she  comes  to  see  you  you  will  find 
it  so." 

•'  Dear  mother,  are  you  sure  you  have  not  dreamed 
this  ?" 

"  You  can  dream  it,  too,  my  darling.  It  is  a  dream 
worth  having.  It  will  come  true,  and  some  dreams  do 
not." 

During  these  weeks  Brewster  found  it  very  difficult 
to  dispose  of  his  time,  even  with  my  assistance  and  my 
wife's.  He  went  out  very  little,  made  no  new  acquaint- 
ances, and  avoided  old  ones,  or  those  who  might  possibly 
have  recognized  him.  He  did  not  see  Mrs.  Gascoigne. 
"We  both  concluded  that  it  would  be  best  for  him  to 
meet  her  only  at  the  marriage  ceremony.  He  said  to 
me,  as  I  knew  before,  that  their  acquaintance  now 
dated  from  the  time  of  their  meeting  at  Saratoga  as 
strangers,  in  1859 ;  and  he  and  I  both  thought  that  it 
would  be  best  for  Mrs.  Gascoigne  to  have  that  tacit 
understanding  continue. 

The  marriage  took  place  very  quietly  at  Mrs.  Gas- 
coigne's  house.  Her  nearest  relatives,  a  few  of  her 
most  intimate  friends,  including  myself  and  wife,  along 
with  Mr.  Brewster  and  the  officiating  clergyman,  were 
the  only  persons  present  who  were  not  inmates  of  the 
house.  All  that  was  known  to  society  in  general  was 
that  these  two  young  people  met  at  Harrison's  Land- 
ing; that  the  wounded  officer  fell  in  love  with  the  lady 
of  the  ambulance,  and  she  with  him  ;  that  they  became 
engaged  before  she  came  to  Boston,  and  that  her  father 
brought  her  here  to  await  her  lover's  recovery.  This 
was  a  very  pretty  little  romance,  and  it  was  as  good  a 
one  as  the  case  needed.  No  one  but  James  and  his 
mother,  Margaret  and  her  father,  my  wife  and  I,  knew 


260  JOHN  CHAR  Axes. 

anything  more,  excepting  her  aunt  and  Mr.  Charaxes, 
who  were  far  away  at  Detroit.  The  old  gentleman  sent 
his  blessing  and  a  magnificent  set  of  diamonds  to  the 
bride,  which,  however,  were  not  displayed  or  reported 
in  the  newspapers.  As  I  stood  there  in  Mrs.  Gascoigne's 
drawing-room,  at  the  marriage,  and  saw  Brewster  give 
his  daughter  to  the  son  of  Isabella  Bradshaw,  and  then, 
after  the  clergyman  had  said,  "  Whom  God  hath  joined 
together,"  and  the  father  had  kissed  his  daughter, — I 
saw  him  approach  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  and  I  thought  what 
a  strange  web  is  this,  our  human  life.  Brewster  was 
almost  cold,  studiously  polite,  imperturbable,  somewhat 
formal.  He  offered  his  hand,  Isabel  extended  hers; 
their  eyes  met  for  an  instant.  I  did  not  hear  what 
was  said.  Her  heart  was  full,  but  I  am  sure  that  she 
did  not  think  of  their  youth.  She  might  have  said, 
exultingly,  as  she  remembered,  "The  Lord  is  my  shep- 
herd. .  .  .  Thou  anointest  my  head  with  oil,  my  cup 
runneth  over." 

Brewster  and  Isabel  never  met  again  in  this  world. 

But  I  must  not  omit  Miss  Brewster's  letter  to  Mrs. 
Gascoigne,  which  came  two  days  before  the  marriage. 

"  Detroit,  September  IG,  1862. 
"  At  this  time,  dear  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  a  journey  to  Bos- 
ton would  be  more  than  I  can  undertake  ;  for,  as  Mar- 
garet and  her  father  are  both  away,  I  cannot  leave  Mr. 
Charaxes.  He  is  now,  I  suppose,  nearly  ninety,  and 
although  he  is  remarkably  well  preserved  for  so  old  a 
man  and  entireh'  cheerful,  he  is  very  dependent  upon 
me  for  company.  I  pass  many  hours  every  day  with 
him,  leaving  him  at  night  to  the  care  of  his  excellent 
valet,  the  Swiss  who  has  been  with  him  so  long.  Your 
son's  heroic  conduct  at  Harrison's  Landing  was  a  mat- 
ter of  public  news,  and  there  was  a  nice  little  romance 
invented  by  the  newspapers,  about  a  young  lady  who 
suddenly  appeared  after  he  was  wounded  and  took 
him  to  New  York.  But  it  was  not  until  I  received 
Margaret's  letters  that  I  knew  the  whole,  and  knew 
that  your  hopes  were  to  be  realized.  I  have  followed 
all  three  of  you  with  my  prayers  through  this  pain- 


THE  ROMANCE  MAY  OR  MAY  NOT  COME.     261 

ful  suspense,  and  now  that  you  are  so  blessed  by  the 
kind  mercy  of  a  merciful  God,  the  word  '  congratula- 
tion' is  too  tame  and  feeble  to  express  what  I  feel. 
You  know  that  I  have  watched  Margaret  since  she 
lost  her  mother  when  she  was  only  two  years  old. 
Her  character  is  one  for  which  I  have  some  responsi- 
bility. You  know  how  closely  I  followed  the  course 
of  that  true  love  which  did  not  for  a  long  time  run 
smoothly  for  your  son,  and  you  are  not  wholly  un- 
aware why  it  was  so.  But  I,  who  was  so  near  to 
Margaret,  and  who  knew  so  much  more,  can  perhaps 
explain  her  to  you  better  than  you  can  explain  her  to 
yourself. 

"Margaret's  ideal  of  life  was  certainly  very  high, 
but  I  did  not  especially  try  to  make  it  so.  I  did  en- 
deavor to  make  her  superior  to  the  common  race  of 
girls,  but  nature  did  far  more  for  her  than  I  could  have 
done.  It  was  not  through  my  influence  that  she 
looked  for  the  grand,  the  heroic,  or  the  uncommon  in 
the  characters  of  men  ;  or  that  she  seemed  to  have  less 
of  that  susceptibility  and  tenderness  which  in  most 
women  responds  so  easily  to  the  true  and  steadfast 
attachment  of  a  pure  and  good  ra-an,  and  which  often 
responds  but  too  well  to  the  love  of  one  who  is  not 
pure  or  good.  This  trait  in  her  character,  this  appar- 
ent lack  of  feminine  readiness  to  receive  and  return 
affection,  this  seeming  coldness  and  indifference,  were, 
I  think,  inherited  from  both  her  parents.  It  was  a 
long  and  a  slow  process  that  brought  her  father  and 
her  mother  together  ;  but  when  the  final  discovery  had 
been  made,  when  their  hearts  had  found  what  each 
was  seeking,  their  union,  for  the  short  period  of  its 
earthly  duration,  was  the  most  perfect  that  I  have 
ever  known.  It  has  never  been  in  the  least  strange  to 
me  that  my  brother  has  not  married  again,  and,  as  I  be- 
lieve, has  never  wished  to. 

^  "  Margaret's  peculiar  patriotism,  or  rather  the  direc- 
tion which  her  patriotism  took,  was  partly  the  effect  of 
circumstances  and  partly  the  natural  result  of  her 
practical  and  energetic  temperament.  She  had  a  kind 
of  exalted  but  regulated  enthusiasm,  which  could  only 


262  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

work  itself  out  in  a  feminine  way  and  under  the  con- 
ditions imposed  upon  women.  Wtien  her  plan  of  fol- 
lowing the  army  as  a  volunteer  lady-nurse  to  the  sick 
and  wounded  was  first  mentioned  to  me,  I  was  very 
reluctant  to  have  her  undertake  it.  But  we  learned 
that,  with  the  proper  means,  appliances,  and  attend- 
ants, and  with  the  sanction  of  the  government,  her 
plan  could  be  carried  out  without  any  sacrifice  of  the 
dignity  of  a  lady.  A  most  excellent  and  suitable 
woman  was  procured  to  be  her  attendant  and  chief  ex- 
ecutive officer, — her  father  and  Mr.  Charaxes  supplied 
all  the  needful  funds, — and  she  took  the  field  with  an 
admirably  appointed  establishment.  The  general  re- 
sult you  know.  But  you  may  not  know  one  part  of 
her  course  that  was  very  characteristic.  Although  she 
was  intensely  anxious  for  the  success  of  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  and  the  Federal  cause,  and  really  belonged 
to  the  Federal  army,  she  was  often  within  the  Con- 
federate lines,  in  the  rapidly-shifting  scenes  of  different 
engagements,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  do  what  she 
could  for  their  wounded  men.  General  McClellan,  she 
was  told,  did  not  disapprove  of  this  ;  and  the  Confed- 
erates, recognizing  the  breadth  of  her  humanity,  not 
only  did  not  interfere  with  her  movements,  but  they 
reverenced  her  and  were  grateful  to  her,  as  if  she  had 
been  an  angel  descended  from  the  skies.  '  When  this 
cruel  war  is  over'  the  memory  of  this  example  will  do 
something  to  soften  the  bitterness  that  such  a  conflict 
will  leave  behind  it.  Our  country  is  supposed  to  be 
typified  by  a  personage  of  our  sex  whom  we  call 
Columbia.  I  thought  that  Margaret  might  be  taken 
for  at  least  her  representative,  so  catholic  and  so  wide 
was  her  sympathy  for  all  engaged  in  this  fraternal 
strife.  When  will  its  dreadful  scenes  be  ended  ?  Mr. 
Charaxes  says  it  must  be  fought  out,  and  that,  although 
the  end  is  far  off,  the  Federal  cause  must  and  will 
prevail. 

"And  now,  my  dear  friend,  that  Margaret's  military 
life  is  ended,  and  her  heart  has  found  its  greatest  need, 
and  she  is  about  to  become  your  son's  wife,  let  me  once 
more   tell  you  how  poor  and  inadequate  are   all   the 


''GATHERED,  NOT  HARSHLY  PLUCKED:^     263 

ordinary  forms  of  felicitation  on  such  an  event.  You 
will  know  all  and  will  feel  all  that  I  would  say  if  I 
could  be  with  you.  Give  them  my  tenderest  love,  and 
reserve  in  your  heart — it  is  a  very  large  one — a  place 
for  "  Your  affectionate 

"  Elizabeth  Brewster." 


CHAPTEE  XYIII. 

"gathered,  not  harshly  plucked." 

Miss  Brewster's  letter  to  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  written 
at  the  time  of  Margaret's  marriage,  spoke  of  Mr.  Cha- 
raxes  as  the_i  at  about  the  age  of  ninety.  He  lived 
nearly  three  years  longer,  dying  in  1865,  just  at  the 
close  of  the  Civil  War.  Miss  Brewster  gave  to  Mrs. 
Gascoigne  some  account  of  his  last  days,  when  the 
funeral  ceremonies  were  over. 

"  Detroit,  May  10,  1865. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Gascoigne, — Our  aged  friend,  whom 
we  have  watched  so  carefully  and  loved  so  much,  passed 
quietly  away  less  than  a  week  ago.  His  remarkable 
powers  of  mind  and  stores  of  knowledge,  which  have  for 
so  many  years  delighted  us,  remained  undisturbed  and 
undiminished  to  the  last.  His  death  was  like  that 
which  the  Archangel  Michael  foretold  of  Adam : 

"  '  Gathered,  not  harshly  plucked,  for  death  mature  ; 
This  is  old  age.' 

"  I  had  long  felt  a  strong  interest  to  know  his  relig- 
ious sentiments.  Although  he  was  neither  a  Eoman 
Catholic  nor  a  Protestant,  I  have  always  considered 
him  a  Christian.  In  the  whole  of  his  residence  here 
he  never  regularly  attended  any  of  our  churches,  but 
he  was  most  liberal  in  his  donations  to  all  of  them  ;  and 
since  his  death  it  has  appeared  that  his  charities  were 
munificent  and  wise.  During  his  last  ten  days  of  life  I 
conversed  with  him  a  good  deal  on  religious  topics.  I 
said  to  him,  one  morning,  that  it  would  interest  all  of 


264   .  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

us,  including  yourself,  to  know  his  religious  views  with 
some  accuracy. 

" '  I  have  never  intended,'  he  said,  '  to  go  out  of  the 
world  leaving  you  in  ignorance  of  my  belief  in  the 
Christian  religion,  and  as  to  dear  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  you 
know  how  highly  I  value  her  regard.  I  am  rather 
afraid  that  she  considers  me  as  having  no  religious 
belief,  because  I  have  formerly  told  her  so  much  of  my 
love  of  philosophy.  But  when  I  am  gone  you  will  all 
know  where  to  place  me.  There  will  be  found,  in  the 
same  package  that  contains  my  will,  a  paper  which  I 
wrote  some  time  ago,  in  which  I  have  expressed  my 
religious  opinions.  It  was  not  written  for  publication, 
but  for  the  private  information  of  mj  friends.  Send 
a  copy  of  it  to  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  and  inform  her  that  she 
is  entirely  at  liberty  to  show  it  to  that  faithful  friend 
of  hers,  Mr.  Peter  Boylston,  to  whom  I  am  under  some 
obligation,  and  whose  good  opinion  lvalue  very  much.' 

''  I  said  that  I  had  never  been  entirely  satisfied  with  any 
definition  or  theory  of  inspiration  that  I  had  met  with. 

" '  You  have  had  no  good  reason  to  be,'  he  replied. 
'  I  cannot  now  do  more  than  refer  you  to  the  paper  of 
which  I  have  spoken.  In  that  you  will  find  a  full  ex- 
planation of  my  own  view  of  what  is  called  inspiration, 
when  the  sacred  writers  are  mentioned.' 

"  On  the  day  after  this  conversation  James  and  Mar- 
garet arrived,  and  he  saw  them  as  soon  as  he  had  been 
dressed  and  placed  upon  the  couch  where  he  usually 
lay  for  some  hours. 

"'Well,  my  dear,'  he  said  to  Margaret,  'you  have 
not  brought  the  little  boy  to  whom  you  have  given  my 
name.  When  he  is  grown  up  he  will  have  to  satisfy 
the  curiosity  of  curious  people  in  regard  to  the  com- 
bination of  Puritan,  Greek,  and  Anglo-Norman  names 
by  which  he  will  be  known.  John  Charaxes  Bradshaw 
Gascoigne  has  not  a  bad  sound,  and  I  don't  believe  it 
ever  will  have.  But  you  will  find,  vaj  dear,  that  there 
will  be  something  to  aid  in  the  development  of  any  of 
the  strains  that  there  are  in  his  blood,  although  he  de- 
rives from  me,  and  perhaps  from  my  race,  nothing  but 
one  of  his  names.     It  is  a  great  comfort  to  rae  to  have 


''GATHERED,  NOT  HARSHLY  PLUCKED:'     265 

you  here.  You  have  travelled  far  to  see  an  old  man 
die,  and  I  cannot  continue  much  longer.  I  have  lived 
already  much  bej'-ond  the  usual  term  of  human  life,  and 
I  am  not  unwilling  to  go.  But,  as  you  see,  I  suffer  no 
pain,  and  I  am  entirely  at  peace  with  my  Maker.  I  do 
not  say  on  what  I  rely  for  that  forgiveness  of  which 
every  human  being  stands  in  need.  I  say  only,  that  to 
have  lived  an  innocent  life,  to  have  done  some  good  in 
the  world,  cannot,  in  any  sensible  view  of  what  is  called 
salvation,  be  considered  as  of  no  moment  in  the  great 
accounting  of  the  hereafter.  When  that  time  comes, 
we  shall  know  with  a  certainty  that  we  cannot  have 
now  what  is  that  process  of  atonement  by  which  our 
sins  are  to  be  wiped  away.  Our  belief  in  it  during  this 
life,  our  conception  of  it,  our  efforts  to  comprehend  it, 
may  more  or  less  conduce  to  good  living ;  but  the  great 
thing  to  understand  is  what  is  meant  by  the  eternal 
life  recorded  in  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  My  conception 
of  this,  differing  widely  from  that  which  is  common, 
you  will  find  explained  in  what  I  have  written.' 

"  After  this  he  conversed  but  little.  Day  succeeded 
to  day  with  a  progressive  diminution  of  strength,  and  the 
end  came  without  a  struggle  or  a  pang. 

"  It  was  found  that  he  had  left  directions  to  have  his 
funeral  conducted  with  entire  simplicity ;  but  this  did 
not  prevent  a  great  concourse  of  people  from  following 
his  remains  to  their  last  resting-place.  After  the  funeral 
his  will  was  read.  He  made  most  liberal  provision  for 
all  his  servants,  and  for  little  John,  your  grandson, 
there  is  a  handsome  legacy.  A  considerable  part  of  his 
property  comes  to  Margaret.  I  think  that  the  paper 
on  his  religious  belief  will  be  to  you,  as  it  is  to  me, 
most  satisfactory.  He  was  buried  in  a  tomb  which  he 
had  himself  prepared.  My  brother  will  place  upon  the 
monument  the  following  inscription  : 

'JOHN  CHAR  AXES. 

A  citizen  of  the  world, 

A  believer  in  the  Christian  Religion, 

And  a  friend  of  mankind. 

Born  in  Syria,  May  1,  1772, 

Died  at  Detroit,  May  5,  1865.' 

M  23 


266  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

"  The  fun'eral  ceremonies  were  conducted  so  as  to 
conform  as  nearly  as  possible  to  what  we  believed  to 
have  been  his  religious  sentiments.  James  and  Mar- 
garet will  return  to  Boston  immediately.  From  them 
you  will  learn  more  particularly  the  provisions  of  the 
will,  and  they  will  bring  you  a  copy  of  the  paper  which 
was  found  with  it.  It  was  written  entirely  by  his  own 
hand  and  signed  with  his  name.  We  may  say  of  him, 
in  Milton's  words, — 

"  '  Nothing  is  here  for  tears,  nothing  to  wail 

Or  knock  the  breast,  no  weakness,  no  contempt, 
Dispraise  or  blame,  nothing  but  well  and  fair. 
And  what  may  quiet  us  in  a  death  so  noble.' 

"And  now,  my  dear  friend,  I  know  not  if  we  shall 
ever  meet  again  in  this  world  ;  my  own  age  admonishes 
me  that  I  cannot  have  many  more  years,  and  the  little 
that  remains  to  me  must  be  devoted  to  my  brother. 
If  I  can  feel  any  assurance  of  anything,  I  can,  in  all 
humility,  believe  that  I  shall  know  and  love  you  here- 
after as  I  have  here.  But  as  long  as  I  continue  to  live, 
those  who  are  nearest  and  dearest  to  you  will  ever  be 
so  to 

"  Your  affectionate, 

"  Elizabeth  Brewster." 


THE   RELIGIOUS   BELIEF   OF   JOHN   CHARAXES.       ' 

"  The  most  important  thing  for  any  one  to  know  is 
what  is  meant  by  the  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures,  in 
which  are  recorded  the  life  and  teachings  of  Christ. 
The  next  thing  that  we  need  to  know  is,  what  is  meant 
by  the  eternal  life  that  Christ  came  to  reveal. 

"  The  idea  that  the  Holy  Spirit  dictated  every  word 
that  was  penned  by  an  Apostle — that  the  human  writer 
merely  held  a  pen  that  was  guided  by  the  Holy  Ghost — 
is  one  extreme.  That  the  Apostolic  writers  were  not 
instructed  by  the  divine  wisdom  in  any  way  is  another 
extreme.  There  is  an  intermediate  view,  which  seems 
to  me  the  better  one.  It  does  not  shut  up  all  inspiration 
within  the  limits  of  Scripture.     There  may  have  been 


'^  GATHERED,  NOT  HARSHLY  PLUCKED.^'     267 

Other  appointed  ministers  of  divine  wisdom  besides  the 
writers  of  the  Old  or  the  New  Testament.  We  must 
include  among  the  '  inspired'  all  who,  in  any  age,  have 
taught  truth  or  have  served  God.  We  have  express 
warrant  for  this  in  the  text  which  declares  that  '  every 
good  and  every  perfect  gift  is  from  above,  and  cometh 
down  from  the  Father  of  lights,  with  whom  is  no  vari- 
ableness nor  shadow  of  turning.'  The  objection  that 
by  a  broad  interpretation  of  this  text  we  degrade  the 
inspiration  of  the  sacred  writers  to  a  rank  below  that 
in  which  it  should  be  accepted— that  we  deprive  it  of 
its  special  authority— is  untenable.  If  we  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  text  in  a  sense  that  leads  to  this  re- 
sult, we  do  not  understand  it  correctl3^  It  does  not 
say  that  every  good  and  perfect  gift  is  of  the  same 
value  as  every  other  gift.  It  says  that  the  source  of 
all  truth  and  wisdom  is  the  Father  of  lights,  who  does 
not  vary  his  teachings  of  what  truth  and  wisdom  are. 
All,  therefore,  that  the  heathen  writers  have  inculcated, 
and  that  accords  with  the  teachings  of  Christ,  must  be 
regarded  as  coming  from  the  fountainof  divine  wisdom. 
It  may  not  be  the  whole  truth ;  it  may  be  mixed  with 
error ;  it  may  fall  short  of  that  full  and  perfect  supply 
which  came  from  the  fountain  when  it  was  opened  by 
the  Son  of  God.  But  it  is  none  the  less  derived  from 
that  fountain  when  it  coincides  with  the  teachino-s  of 
the  one  great  Eevelation'.  * 

"  In  the  early  days  of  Christianity  there  was  a  doc- 
trine of  inspiration  which  may  be  called  the  primitive 
doctrine,  and  which  included  the  testimony  of  what 
truth  is  that  was  borne  by  any  one  on  whom  there  had 
been  bestowed  any  '  good  and  perfect  gift,'  any  gift 
that  was  good  in  itself  and  perfect  as  far  as  it  went. 
It  IS  I  suppose,  quite  certain  that  the  Christian  school 
of  Alexandria  held  this  doctrine  of  inspiration,  and  the 
Greek  Christians  of  a  later  age  held  that  the  poets  and 
philosophers  of  the  heathen  world  often  uttered  the 
voice  of  God,  although  they  may  not  have  been  con- 
scious that  he  breathed  into  their  minds  what  they 
wrote  or  said.  This  doctrine  of  inspiration  does  not 
militate  against  that  other  doctrine  which  assigns  to 


268  JOHN  CHAR  AXES. 

the  Apostolic  writers  a  more  direct,  special,  immediate, 
and,  therefore,  a  more  full,  communication  from  the 
'  Father  of  Lights.' 

''  This  full  and,  as  I  suppose,  final  communication 
has  come  down  to  us  in  writings  that  need  interpreta- 
tion. How  are  we  to  know  that  we  understand  them 
rightly  ?  How,  in  the  multitude  of  glosses  and  expla- 
nations, are  we  to  select  those  which  we  ought  to 
accept  ?  The  doctrine  of  literal  and  verbal  inspiration 
leaves  much  that  must  be  explained.  I  do  not  believe 
in  the  present  existence  of  any  authoritative  and  final 
interpreter  of  the  Scriptures. 

"The  primitive  churches  and  the  earliest  age  of 
Christianit}^  had  this  advantage, — that  the^^  were  in- 
structed by  the  Apostles,  and,  therefore,  there  is  a  cer- 
tain value,  and  a  great  value,  in  what  they  accepted, 
so  far  as  we  can  learn  it  with  certainty.  But  we  are 
to  consider  the  situation  and  composition  of  the  first 
churches.  Look  into  the  Apocalypse  of  St.  John,  for 
example.  The  book  that  is  called  the  Kevelation  of 
St.  John,  and  is  supposed  by  some  scholars  to  have  been 
erroneously  placed  at  the  end  of  the  New  Testament 
because  it  is  there  out  of  the  chronological  order  of  its 
production,  was  sent,  we  are  told,  by  the  divine  command 
to  the  seven  churches  which  were  in  Asia:  Ephesus, 
Smyrna,  Pergamos,  Thj^atira,  Sardis,  Philadelphia,  and 
Laodicea.  It  was  written  on  the  island  of  Patmos, 
and  probably  in  a.d.  68.  The  internal  evidence  and 
the  contemporaneous  condition  of  the  Eoman  Empire 
are  supposed,  by  the  symbols  employed  in  the  book, 
to  point  almost  with  certaint}^,  at  least  with  a  high 
degree  of  probability,  to  this  date.  There  is  a  theory 
that  the  extraordinary  symbols  made  use  of  were  em- 
ployed by  the  Apostle  to  disguise  his  meaning  from  the 
enemies  of  Christianity,  but  that  the  churches  to  which 
it  was  sent  would  readily  understand  them  to  mean 
events  and  persons  that  had  then  lately  transpired  or 
lived,  or  that  were  to  come  immediately.  But  those 
seven  churches  were  most  variously  composed.  Some 
consisted  of  Jews,  and  some  of  Gentiles.  Accordingly, 
the  Apostle  was  commanded  to  address  each  of  them 


' '  GA  THEBED,  NO T  HARSHL  Y  PL  UCKED. "     269 

by  special  encouragement  and  praise  and  special  rebuke 
and  threatening,  adapted  to  the  condition  and  tendencies 
of  each.  But  to  each  of  the  seven  churches  went  the 
same  Book,  with  the  tremendous  vision  which  the 
Apostle  saw,  crowded  with  symbols  of  what  was  hap- 
pening in  the  world,  of  what  had  come  through  Christ 
and  was  jQt  to  come.  The  whole  closes  with  a  rapt 
and  vivid  prophecy  of  the  coming  of  Christ's  kingdom, 
under  the  symbols  of  the  water  of  life,  the  tree  of  life, 
and  that  realm  where  there  shall  be  no  more  curse,  but 
the  throne  of  G-od  and  his  Lamb  shall  be  in  it,  and  his 
servants  shall  serve  him,  and  they  shall  see  his  face,  and 
his  name  shall  be  in  their  foreheads,  and  there  shall  be 
no  night  there,  and  they  shall  need  no  candle,  neither 
light  of  the  sun,  for\he  Lord  God  giveth  them  light, 
and  they  shall  reign  for  ever  and  ever.  Now,  whether 
the  seven  churches,  or  any  of  them,  understood  the 
symbolic  representations  as  the  Apostle  meant  them, 
they  would  be  likely  to  interpret  variously  the  doc- 
trines of  Christianit}',  unless  they  were  more  specially 
instructed  in  those  doctrines  than  they  were  in  this 
one  Book  of  the  Eevelation.  For  this  reason,  it  has 
been  supposed  that  we  ought  to  place  this  Book  in 
its  chronological  precedence  of  the  other  and  later 
writings  of  the  same  Apostle.  Those  later  writings 
express  his  conception  of  the  Christian  doctrines  far 
more  directly  and  distinctly  than  the  Apocalypse.  He 
was  the  last  survivor  of  those  who  had  seen  the  Lord ; 
he  was  the  Apostle  whom  Jesus  specially  loved;  he 
was  at  the  crucifixion ;  on  him  was  devolved  the  care 
of  the  Yirgin  Mary,  and  he  took  her  to  his  own  home ; 
his  mother  was  the  Yirgin's  sister;  on  the  morning  of 
the  resurrection,  after  he  had  heard  that  Christ  had 
risen  from  the  dead,  he  ran  to  the  tomb  and  found  that 
the  body  was  not  there,  and  that  nothing  remained  but 
the  linen  clothes  in  which  it  was  enwrapped  at  the 
burial ;  he  was  present  on  at  least  two  occasions  after 
the  resurrection,  when  Jesus  appeared  among  his  Apos- 
tles, and  manifested  his  identity  by  proofs  that  removed 
all  doubt  from  the  minds  of  any  who  had  doubted.  I 
am  but  repeating  things  that  have  always  been  known. 

23* 


270  JOHN  charAxes. 

But  perhaps  it  may  not  have  occurred  to  those  who 
will  read  what  I  now  write,  that  St.  John,  when  he 
wrote  his  Gospel  and  his  short  Epistles,  had  lived  to  a 
time  when  the  Gospel  had  not  only  been  presented  to 
and  accepted  by  Jews  and  Gentiles,  but  when  he  had 
accumulated  in  his  own  experience,  studies,  and  reflec- 
tions an  amount  of  knowledge  that  far  exceeded  that 
of  all  other  living  men.  There  is  a  tradition  that  the 
elders  and  bishops  of  the  different  churches  specially 
requested  him  to  write  those  productions  which  may 
now  be  considered  as  the  grand  supplement  to  the 
Apocalypse.  This  tradition,  however  interesting,  is 
only  so  far  important  as  it  marks  the  estimation  in 
which  he  was  held  and  his  supreme  authority  as  the 
best  living  expositor  of  the  life  and  teachings  of  Christ. 
I  am  not  aware  that  the  tradition  goes  so  far  as  to  sig- 
nify that  those  who  made  this  request  expected  that  a 
special  inspiration  would  be  vouchsafed  to  him.  Their 
expectation  in  regard  to  this  is  not  material.  We  are 
to  consider  what  he  said  in  his  Gospel  and  Epistles 
concerning  himself.  In  his  Gospel  he  does  not  write 
in  the  first  person.  He  speaks  of  himself  as  the  disci- 
ple whom  Jesus  loved,  for  the  purpose  of  identification, 
referring  to  a  fact  known  to  every  Christian  believer; 
and  at  the  close  he  announces  himself  as  the  writer  in 
this  wise:  'This  is  the  disciple  which  testifies  of  those 
things,  and  wrote  these  things ;  and  we  know  that 
his  testimony  is  true ;'  or,  as  it  should  be  understood, 
'  I  who  have  testified  of  those  things  know  that  my 
testimony  is  true.'  The  sources  of  his  knowledge 
were  twofold  :  first,  the  things  which  he  had  previously 
witnessed,  or  of  which  he  had  heard  by  tradition  ; 
secondly,  the  things  which  had  been  taught  him  by 
the  Holy  Spirit.  In  the  latter  we  are  to  took  for  the 
inspiration  of  which  he  was  conscious,  or  of  which  he 
believed  himself  to  be  conscious.  It  is  expressed  in 
the  assertion  that  he  '  knows'  these  things  to  be  true ; 
and  in  reference  to  the  doctrines  which  he  explains 
and  to  his  exposition  of  the  essential  truths  of  Chris- 
tianity we  must  understand  this  knowledge  to  have 
been   imparted  to   him   by  something   more  than  his 


' '  GA  THE  RED,  NO  T  HA  RSHL  Y  PL  UCKED. "  271 

own  studies  and  reflections.  In  the  Apocalypse  he 
states  the  circumstances  under  which  the  Revelation 
which  God  gave  unto  Jesus  Christ  came  to  him,  John. 
He  says  that  God  sent  and  signified  it  to  him  by  an 
angel ;  and  that  he,  John,  bare  record  of  the  Word  of 
God,  and  of  the  testimony  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  of  all 
things  that  he  saw.  Then,  when  he  comes  to  speak  of 
his  own  situation  at  the  time  he  received  the  command 
to  write  this  Book,  he  says  that  he  was  in  the  Spirit 
on  the  Lord's  day.  in  the  island  of  Patmos,  and  that 
he  heard  behind  him  a  great  voice,  as  of  a  trumpet, 
commanding  him  to  write  what  he  was  to  see  in  a 
book  and  send  it  to  the  seven  churches  in  Asia.  It  is 
quite  plain,  therefore,  that  St.  John  meant  to  assert 
that  in  writing  this  Book  he  received  direct  instruction 
and  command  and  prophetic  vision  from  God  himself, 
through  a  messenger,  described  as  an  angel  and  as  a 
voice.  What  he  meant  by  inspiration,  although  he 
does  not  use  the  word,  is  clear  enough.  It  is  equally 
clear  that,  in  writing  his  first  Epistle,  he  considered  him- 
self as  speaking  under  the  influence  of  that  same  inspi- 
ration ;  for  he  says,  '  That  which  we  have  seen  and  heard 
declare  we  unto  you  ;'  and  by  what  he  had  heard  he 
did  not  mean  mere  tradition,  for  he  says,  '  This  then  is 
the  message  which  we  have  heard  of  Am.'  So  far  as 
his  Gospel  comprehends  more  than  narrative,  more 
than  historic  details  of  the  life  of  Jesus,  the  knowledge 
which  he  asserts  must  be  taken  to  have  been  derived 
from  the  same  source  to  which  he  refers  in  his  first 
Epistle.  Here,  then,  we  reach  that  idea  of  inspiration 
of  which  this  great  Apostle  believed  himself  conscious, 
and  which  must  have  been  believed  in  by  those  for 
whom  he  wrote.  The  whole  of  his  manifold  exposi- 
tion of  the  truths  of  Christianity  has  been  again  and 
again  analyzed ;  and  after  the  most  elaborate  and  ap- 
parently consistent  system  of  doctrine  has  been  framed, 
or  the  last  and  simplest  analysis  has  reduced  every- 
thing to  the  one  idea  of  Eternal  Life,  men  dispute, 
always  have  disputed,  and  to  the  end  of  time  will 
probably  continue  to  dispute,  about  the  conditions  on 
which  that  life  is  to  be  obtained,  or  even  what  it  is  to 


272  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

be.     Is  there,  then,  any  authorized  interpreter  now  on 
earth,  whose  readings  must  be  accepted  ? 

"  I  presume  that  what  I  am  about  to  say  would  not 
be  accepted  by  any  Church  at  the  present  day  with 
which  I  am  acquainted.  But  I  am  giving  my  own 
views  for  the  information  of  my  friends.  The  idea 
that  St.  John,  who  was  accepted  by  the  churches  to 
which  he  wrote  as  the  authorized  interpreter  of  Chris- 
tian doctrine,  was  succeeded  by  some  other  person  or 
persons  authorized  to  make  certain  those  things  in 
respect  to  which  his  exposition  was  supposed  to  require 
further  eUicidation,  presupposes  that  this  office  was 
after  his  death  laid  on  such  person  or  persons,  to  be  dis- 
charged with  the  same  kind  of  authority  with  which 
he  wrote  or  preached.  Whether  this  was  effected  by 
what  is  called  '  Apostolic  succession,'  or  whether  this 
authority  was  assumed  by  single  churches  or  by  the 
churches  collectively,  or  was  assumed  by  their  '  Pres- 
byters,' it  necessarily  proceeds  upon  the  idea  that  there 
was  perpetuated  a  function  of  making  and  continuing 
to  make  authorized  and  final  interpretations  of  the 
word  of  God,  supplemental  to  those  Avhich  had  been 
given  by  St.  John,  or  by  the  other  Apostolic  writers,  or 
by  him  and  the  others.  Hence  has  come  about,  as  I 
understand,  the  claim  of  authority  which  is  asserted  in 
different  ways  and  degrees  by  the  different  churches 
into  which  the  Christian  world  is  now  divided.  Each 
of  them  defends  its  own  authority  upon  principles 
which  to  some  extent  are  common  to  them  all,  but 
which  in  many  respects  differ  fundamentally  in  the 
reasoning  and  in  the  facts  that  are  assumed  as  the  basis 
of  the  reasoning.  But  in  whatever  sense  we  under- 
stand the  infallibility  of  the  Church  of  Eome,  or  the 
authority  of  the  Greek  Church,  or  that  of  the  churches 
now  called  Protestant,  one  thing  is  true  ofeach  of  them, 
— that  each  addresses  itself  to  individual  belief  in  the 
authority  that  is  asserted.  The  very  diversity  in  the 
principles  on  which  the  authority  is  claimed,  and  in  the 
facts  which  are  supposed  to  establish  it,  is,  to  my  mind, 
the  strongest  proof  that  there  is  now  on  earth  no  au- 
thoritative and  final  interpreter  of  Christian  doctrine  to 


''GATHERED,  XOT  HARSHLY  PLUCKED :'     273 

which  all  must  bow  or  remain  in  doubt  respecting  their 
inclusion  in  the  kingdom  of  Christ.  Believing,  as  I  do, 
that  G-od  reigns,  and  that  the  Gospel  of  Christ  is  a  rev- 
elation of  his  word,  I  cannot  conceive  that  all  this  di- 
versity of  interpretation  and  the  different  bases  on 
which  the  authority  of  different  Christian  bodies  is 
rested  was  not  permitted  for  a  special  purpose.  That 
purpose,  as  I  conceive,  was  to  leave  the  whole  body  of 
Christian  truth  to  be  adapted  to  human  nature  as  the 
diversities  of  intelligence  and  individual  wants  de- 
manded, in  order  to  make  the  religion  effectual  to  the 
welfare  of  mankind  to  the  greatest  possible  extent. 
Does  this  view  take  away  the  value  of  those  exposi- 
tions of  what  the  eternal  life  promised  by  the  Gospel 
consists  in,  as  variously  interpreted  by  the  different 
churches,  because  it  denies  that  any  one  of  them  can 
claim  special  and  exclusive  authority  ?  By  no  means. 
It  places  the  value  of  their  interpretations  upon  their 
power  to  reach  the  convictions  and  to  govern  the  lives 
of  mankind. 

"  What  I  have  now  written  will  explain  why,  al- 
though I  believe  in  the  divine  origin  of  Christianity,  I 
have  never  been  able  to  accept  any  existing  church  as 
the  authorized  and  final  interpreter  between  me  and 
my  Maker.  There  must  always  be  some  persons  who 
cannot  stand  within  the  pale  of  any  church,  but  who 
are  yet  not  to  be  regarded  as  unbelievers,  whatever  any 
church  may  say. 

"Still,  it  will  be  said  that  the  tendency  of  such  views 
as  mine  is  to  do  away  with  church  organizations,  with 
the  preaching  of  Christianity,  and  even  with  the  public 
worship  of  God.  If  a  philosophic  and  scholarly  per- 
son, like  myself,  is  to  be  his  own  sole  judge  of  Christian 
truth, — a  class  that  must  comprehend  only  a  very  small 
minority, — it  will  be  asked  whether  the  multitude  of 
persons  who  are  unqualified  to  expound  the  Scriptures 
for  themselves  will  not  be  led  to  neglect  all  study  of 
them  or  to  reject  all  aid,  and  finally  to  become  un- 
believers ? 

"  The  idea  that  it  will  not  do  to  leave  private  and  indi- 
vidual judgment  to  its  own  unassisted  means  of  discov- 

8 


274  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

ering  truth,  and  to  have  no  special  inculcation  of  motives 
to  right  conduct,  does  not  become  necessarily  sound, 
because  there  are  numerous  persons  who,  if  so  left, 
would  go  astray.  There  will  always  be  a  great  amount 
of  ignorance,  intellectual  incapacity,  and  indifference, 
as  there  will  always  be  a  great  amount  of  temptation 
to  sin.  But  it  is,  after  all,  to  the  individual  acceptance 
of  truth  that  every  form  of  teaching  is  to  be  addressed, 
as  it  is  to  the  individual  ca23acity  to  feel  the  motives  to 
virtuous  conduct  that  the  appeal  must  be  made.  Be- 
cause there  are  some  who  can  teach  themselves  by  a 
study  of  the  Scriptures,  searching  in  them  to  find  eter- 
nal life,  it  does  not  follow  that  there  are  not  others  who 
stand  in  need  of  other  aid.  So  great  is  the  variety  of 
human  beings,  in  respect  to  the  capacity  to  understand 
the  Christian  religion,  that  I  look  upon  all  the  different 
religious  organizations  and  systems  as  providentially 
ordered.  This  is  not  merely  the  statesman's  or  the  politi- 
cal view.  It  is  a  view  which  rises  higher  than  all  the 
kingdoms  of  this  world,  higher  than  all  the  objects  of 
making  human  government  easier  and  more  successful, 
because  it  recognizes  the  kingdom  of  Christ. 

"  I  have  sometimes  been  asked  if  I  look  for  what  is 
called  Christian  unity,  or  the  fusion  of  all  the  churches 
into  one.  My  answer  to  this  is  that  I  do  not  look  for  a 
union  of  all  the  churches  in  this  age  or  in  any  age,  so 
long  as  the  world  continues,  in  any  sense  but  this :  I 
look  for  the  second  and  final  coming  of  Christ ;  for  his 
kingdom  ;  when  there  shall  prevail  universally  a  correct 
conception  and  a  realization  of  the  eternal  life  of  the 
Gospel ;  when,  in  this  respect,  the  churches  on  earth 
shall  be  one  with  the  church  in  heaven. 

"  *  Part  of  the  host  have  crossed  the  flood, 
And  part  are  crossing  now.' 

"  Those  who  have  crossed  already  and  those  who  are 
crossing  now  may  have  attained  here  the  eternal  life 
that  was  typified  by  St.  John  under  so  many  symbols 
at  the  close  of  the  Apocalypse.  When  all  have  attained  a 
true  idea  of  eternal  life,  and  are  living  that  life,  there  will 
be  but  one  church.     The  vulgar  idea  that  eternal  life  is  a 


''GATHERED,  NOT  HARSHLY  PLUCKED.^'     275 

life  of  endless  duration  supposes  that  Christ  came  to 
reveal  something  in  which-  the  heathen  were  to  have 
no  part.  Every  human  being  who  has  ever  lived  or 
ever  will  live  will  have  an  endless  existence,  if  any  one 
of  them  has  been  endowed  with  that  privilege.  If  one 
human  soul  is  incapable  of  annihilation,  all  others  are 
so;  and  it  cannot  depend  upon  my  belief  whether  I  am 
to  live  forever  or  not.  The  eternal  life  which  Christ 
came  to  reveal  was  not  an  indefinite  existence ;  it  was 
not  a  duration,  to  be  measured  by  any  idea  of  time,  ter- 
minable or  interminable.  It  was  a  state  of  the  indi- 
vidual soul — a  life — a  living — a  conduct — a  holiness  as 
contrasted  with  sin.  The  epithet  eternal  should  have 
a  broader  meaning  than  the  idea  of  endless  duration. 
There  may  be  an  endless  duration  of  a  state  that  is  not 
the  eternal  life  of  the  Gospel,  just  as  surely  as  there 
may  be  an  endless  duration  of  that  life  which  Christ 
came  to  teach.  The  resurrection  of  the  dead  cannot 
be  supposed  to  comprehend  only  the  saints.  There  is 
to  be  a  judgment  after  the  resurrection.  Those  who 
have  led  the  eternal  life  of  the  Gospel  will  be  separated 
from  those  who  have  not  led  it,  and  in  both  classes  may 
be  comprehended  those  who  have  not  heard  of  the 
Gospel  on  earth. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  asked  whether  I  believe  in  uni- 
versal salvation.  In  the  salvation  that  consists  in  the 
state  which  is  described  as  eternal  Ufe  I  certainly  do 
believe.  There  may  be  means  provided  for  the  attain- 
ment of  this  state  in  the  cases  of  those  who  have  not 
had  such  means  in  this  world,  or,  having  them,  have 
neglected  them. 

"  I  will  touch  upon  only  one  other  point  in  this  brief 
account  of  my  religious  opinions.  Since  the  revelation 
that  came  through  Christ  there  have  been,  as  it  was 
foretold  there  would  be,  other  supposed  or  pretended 
revelations.  Some  of  them  have  been  very  gross  fic- 
tions ;  others  have  been  plausible ;  all  have  been  more 
or  less  accepted,  according  to  the  character  of  the  age 
and  the  state  of  society  in  which  they  have  appeared. 
But  no  matter  what  may  have  been  their  claims,  their 
merits  or  demerits,  there  is  one  answer  to  be  made  to 


276  JOHN  CHAR  AXES. 

them  all,  whether  they  have  claimed  to  supersede  or  to 
be  supplemental  to  the  revelation  of  the  IS'ew  Testa- 
ment. That  answer  is,  that  the  argument  and  proofs 
which  sustain  the  finality  of  the  Christian  revelation — 
making  it  the  last  communication  of  G-od's  word  that 
will  be  made  while  the  human  race  continues  on  earth — 
are  so  strong  that  they  overthrow  the  probabiliy  of 
any  subsequent  communication  of  the  same  kind.  I 
have  heard  it  argued  that  G-od  is  constantly  revealing 
himself  in  different  ways  ;  that  new  proofs  of  his  power, 
beneficence,  and  care  for  the  human  race  are  constantly 
accumulating  ;  that  Christ  and  his  Apostles  were  men 
of  very  humble  birth  and  limited  or  no  education ; 
that  in  the  course  of  ages,  as  the  wants  of  mankind 
seem  to  the  divine  wisdom  to  require  farther  revela- 
tions of  truth,  it  would  not  be  strange  if  persons  of 
equally  humble  origin  were  to  be  selected  as  the  agents 
through  which  they  were  to  be  made,  and  that  there 
is  a  priori  no  reason  why  a  succession  of  such  revela- 
tions should  not  occur  to  the  end  of  time.  But  this 
kind*of  reasoning  overlooks  two  very  important  circum- 
stances, and  bases  itself  upon  an  a  priori  assumption. 
It  overlooks,  first,  the  great  fact  that  the  miracles  which 
attest  the  divine  origin  of  Christianity, — the  miraculous 
birth  of  Christ,  the  miracles  wrought  by  him  during  his 
life,  and  his  death  and  resurrection, — if  believed  on  sat- 
isfactory evidence,  constitute  a  body  of  proof  that  he 
was  truly  the  Son  of  Grod  and  a  messenger  sent  from 
heaven,  to  which  no  subsequent  prophet,  or  teacher, 
or  supposed  instrument  of  a  new  revelation  can  lay 
claim. 

"  Secondly,  the  Christian  revelation,  taken  as  a  whole, 
with  all  that  it  comprehends,  bears  internal  evidence  that 
it  was  intended  as  a  finality,  because  it  is  so  complete 
and  consistent;  because  it  satisfies  every  conceivable 
want  of  the  human  race  while  the  race  shall  continue 
on  the  earth ;  because  it  affords  and  must  continue  to 
afford  the  means  of  attaining  eternal  life ;  and  when 
that  has  been  attained  by  the  whole  human  race  there 
can  be  no  conceivable  state  remaining  beyond  it.  While, 
therefore,  it  may  be  true  in  the  physical  world  that 


''GATHERED,  NOT  HARSHLY  PLUCKED.''     277 

Grod  reveals  himself  in  different  ways  as  different  neces- 
sities arise  for  enlarging  the  bounds  of  human  knowl- 
edge, if  we  find  that  in  the  spiritual  world  he  has  made 
a  revelation  that  is  marked  by  no  imaginable  deficiency 
as  a  means  of  influencing  the  human  race,  and  that  has 
never  3'et  been  found  to  need  addition,  and  that  will 
accomplish  for  our  race  all  that  such  a  being  can  be 
supposed  to  intend,  there  is  no  necessity  for  resorting 
to  a  priori  speculation  about  the  claims  of  subsequent 
supposed  communications  of  the  same  nature. 

"At  the  end  of  this  world  there  will  be  an  infinite 
variety  of  human  characters  formed  under  the  influ- 
ences of  the  different  sj^stems  of  religion.  There  will 
be  those  who  died  without  any  character  at  all, — the 
idiots  and  the  infants  who  perished  before  character 
could  begin  to  be  formed.  The  sj^stem  of  morality 
taught  by  some  of  the  heathen  religions  is  as  pure  and 
beneficial  in  some  respects  as  the  Christian  morality. 
But  the  Christian  morality  surpasses  them  all  by  the 
doctrine  of  eternal  life  as  that  life  should  be  interpreted. 
Belief  in  the  doctrine  is  not  the  only  thing  that  is  need- 
ful. The  state  of  character  must  result  from  the  belief. 
But  the  attainment  of  that  state  depends  upon  a  true 
conception  of  what  the  eternal  life  of  the  Gospel  is.  If 
we  make  the  revelation  to  consist  in  nothing  but  an 
assurance  that  we  are  to  live  forever,  we  shall  fall 
short  of  a  true  conception  of  what  was  inculcated. 
I  am  aware  that  this  is  not  in  accordance  with  the 
teaching  of  some  Christian  theologians,  and  that  it 
rejects  the  efficacy  commonly  imputed  to  rites  and 
ceremonious  observances,  which  are,  after  all,  only 
helps  to  the  formation  of  that  condition  of  the  soul  that 
is  meant  by  eternal  life.  Perhaps  I  am  too  broad  for 
the  broadest  churchman,  and  perhaps  my  peculiar 
studies  have  led  me  to  the  adoption  of  views  so  differ- 
ent from  those  of  the  current  theology.  But  my  relig- 
ious opinions  have  been  formed  with  much  study  and 
reflection,  and  in  the  exercise  of  the  right  and  perform- 
ance of  the  duty  of  interpreting  the  Scriptures  for  my- 
self. 

"  It  will  be  seen,  from  what  I  have  written,  in  what 
24 


278  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

sense  and  why  I  believe  in  universal  salvation.  If  we 
narrow  the  vast  scheme  of  the  Almighty,  as  some  theo- 
logians are  disposed  to  narrow  it,  we  must  remember 
that,  before  the  mission  of  Christ,  millions  of  human 
beings  were  allowed  to  be  born  who  never  heard  of  the 
Gospel,  and  many  of  whom  could  not  have  received  it 
if  they  had  heard  of  it,  because  they  were  born  and 
died  without  sufficient  sense  to  know  anything,  or  died 
in  infancy.  And  since  Christ  came  upon  earth,  millions 
have  been  born  and  have  died  to  whom  the  light  of  the 
Grospel  never  came.  Is  it  conceivable  that  in  the 
scheme  of  salvation  there  is  no  provision  for  those  who 
could  not  attain  here  that  state  of  the  soul  which  is  de- 
scribed as  eternaUife?  That  conception  would  leave 
a  great  blank  in  the  scheme  of  the  Almighty,  which  we 
have  no  warrant  for  imputing  to  him.  On  the  contrary, 
we  have  a  warrant  for  believing  that  what  is  really 
meant  by  eternal  life  is  attainable  hereafter.  There 
may  be  those  who  will  persistentl}^  refuse  to  avail  them- 
selves of  the  means  of  grace,  but  it  is  not  in  accordance 
with  my  conception  of  God's  purposes  to  suppose  that 
the  door  will  be  forever  closed  against  them.  Whether 
they  can  enter  it  will  depend  upon  their  repentance 
and  upon  their  striving  after  and  attaining  eternal  life. 

"John  Charaxes." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

GOING  HOME  AT  THE  END  OF  TORTY  YEARS. 

The  reader  has  probably  not  forgotten  how  strongly 
Lady  Blanche  Gascoigne  disapproved  of  Mr.  Bradshaw's 
purchase  of  Dinah  when  it  was  related  to  her  by  Isa- 
bel at  the  time  of  her  only  visit  at  Gascoigne  House. 
To  be  sure,  the  purchase  made  Dinah  a  free  woman, 
but  then,  in  Lady  Blanche's  view,  it  gave  a  certain 
sanction  to  the  idea  of  property  in  human  beings.  I 
presume  if  her  ladyship  had  been  living  at  the  time  of 
which  I  am  about  to  speak  she  would  nave  as  strongly 


GOING  HOME  AT  THE  END  OF  FORTY  YEARS.      279 

disapproved  of  what  Dinah  herself  did,  for  it  certainly 
did  not  show  that  she  cherished  the  hatred  of  her 
former  owners  which  Lady  Blanche  would  have  con- 
sidered natural,  if  not  right.  In  the  long  period  of  her 
freedom  Dinah  had  accumulated  a  considerable  sum  of 
money.  Mr.  Bradshaw,  while  he  lived,  saw  that  her 
money  was  dul}^  deposited  in  a  savings  bank ;  and  after 
she  became  Mrs.  Gascoigne's  servant  that  lady  took 
care  that  her  wages,  so  far  as  she  did  not  need  to  spend 
them, — she  was  very  prudent  and  needed  to  spend  ex- 
tremely little  on  herself, — were  put  into  a  position  to 
have  interest  regularly  added  to  principal.  In  the 
early  days  of  the  anti-slavery  societies  some  of  the 
excellent  ladies  in  Boston  and  the  neighborhood,  who 
were  concerned  in  those  associations,  made  efforts  to 
get  Dinah  to  contribute  to  the  cause ;  but  she  was  quite 
aware  how  they  used  their  money,  and  did  not  loosen 
her  purse-strings  at  their  solicitation.  She  had  a  vague 
idea  that  she  might  at  some  time  wish  to  buy  the  free- 
dom of  some  man  or  woman, — a  thing  that  her  aboli- 
tion friends  never  did. 

When  the  Civil  War  had  been  going  on  for  some  time, 
Dinah  became  very  anxious  to  learn  about  Colonel 
Julius  Pringle,  of  the  Confederate  army,  the  son  of  her 
old  master  and  mistress.  Mrs.  Gascoigne  helped  her  to 
follow  the  accounts  of  the  different  battles  in  which  the 
colonel's  regiment  was  engaged.  He  was  killed  in  one 
of  the  last  engagements  in  the  Wilderness,  just  before 
General  Lee's  surrender  to  General  Grant  at  Appomat- 
tox ;  and  some  time  after  the  peace  came,  and  inter- 
course between  the  North  and  South  was  reopened, 
Dinah  learned  that  the  colonel's  wife  and  children  were 
left  in  an  almost  destitute  condition.  From  that  mo- 
ment Boston,  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  James,  Margaret,  everj^- 
thing  that  was  not  connected  with  her  old  Southern 
home,  occupied  a  second  place' in  Dinah's  feelings  and 
thoughts.  A  love  that  was  older  dominated  every  other 
and  later  affection. 

"Missus  Is'bel,"  she  said  one  day,  "I'm  gwine  by  de 
nex'  steamer  to  Charlst'n,  to  see  my  fokes.  I  want  all 
my  munny  to  take  along." 


280  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

"  Certainly,  Dinah,  you  shall  have  your  money,  and 
more  if  j^ou  need  it.  But  will  it  not  do  as  well  to  have 
a  letter  written,  and  get  Mr.  James  to  attend  to  what 
you  wish  to  have  done?" 

"No,  Missus  Is'bel,  it  won't.  I  dunno  ef  dey  hev 
eny  ob  de  Ian'  lef ,  nor  whar  de  niggers  air.  How's  dem 
chill'n  to  be  rased?  Dat  lady  deown  dere  is  rite  bad 
orf,  an'  heer's  ole  Dinah  hvin'  comfurt'ble  an'  doin' 
nuffin." 

"  But,  Dinah,  I  hope  you  love  me  still.  You  will  come 
back  to  us,  will  you  not?" 

"  I  dunno,  missus ;  I  will  ef  I  can.  I  lub  yeou  deerly, 
— didn'  I  rase  yeou  from  a  leetl'  gurl?  Didn'  I  nuss 
Massa  James  eber  sence  he  wus  tree  yeer  ole  ?  De  Lor' 
'11  tak  keer  o'  yeou,  ma'am.  Bress'd  air  de  peure  in 
hart,  for  dey  s'all  see  God." 

"  Well,  Dinah,  you  shall  go;  but  get  some  one  to  write 
to  me.     Promise  me  that." 

Dinah  promised.  JN'o  time  was  lost.  Her  money  was 
withdrawn  from  the  savings  bank,  and  arrangements 
were  made  to  enable  her  to  use  it  as  she  wished.  Mrs. 
Gascoigne  charged  her  to  call  for  more  if  she  needed  it. 
But  her  own  accumulations  had  made  her,  in  the  course 
of  so  many  years,  the  mistress  of  a  few  thousand  dollars. 
It  was  a  painful  parting  when  she  went  away;  but  it 
was  a  mission  from  the  great  and  triumphant  J^orth 
to  the  fallen  South,  and  the  missionary,  although  an 
humble,  was  a  suitable  one.  In  a  few  weeks  Mrs.  Gas- 
coigne received  from  a  gentleman  in  Charleston,  son  of 
a  former  correspondent  of  her  father,  the  following 
letter : 

"  Charleston,  S.  C,  June  1,  1867. 

"  Dear  Madam, — I  remember  hearing,  as  a  boy,  of  the 
purchase  by  your  father  of  a  negro  girl  who  was  sold 
in  this  city  among  other  servants  of  the  late  Mr.  Thomas 
Pringle.  It  made  some  talk  among  us  at  the  time,  but 
it  was  forgotten  in  the  greater  and  more  distressing 
events  that  followed.  I  received  a  few  weeks  since  a 
call  from  a  very  respectable  old  colored  woman,  who 
made  herself  known  to  me  as  the  girl  your  father 
bought  and  carried  to  Boston.     She  said  that  her  name 


GOING  HOME  AT  THE  END  OF  FORTY  YEARS.     281 

was  Dinah,  and  that  she  had  never  had  any  other  name  ; 
that  she  had  been  your  servant  for  many  years,  and 
that  she  had  come  to  Charleston  to  see  the  family  of 
the  late  Colonel  Pringle,  who  was  the  son  of  her  old 
master.  I  put  her  in  the  way  of  finding  them.  Colonel 
Pringle  inherited  from  his  father  a  very  good  sea-island 
cotton-plantation ;  but  the  negroes  on  it  were  all  dis- 
persed after  President  Lincoln's  proclamation,  and  the 
colonel's  widow  and  children  have  been  living  in  the 
city  for  some  time  in  very  straitened  circumstances. 
The  eldest  boy  has  not  been  able  to  find  any  employ- 
ment, and  the  other  children  are  quite  young.  Dinah 
seems  to  have  the  command  of  money.  She  has  already 
put  the  family  into  a  condition  of  comfort  and  has  placed 
the  young  gentleman  at  school.  She  is  now,  with  my 
assistance,  making  arrangements  to  get  possession  of 
the  land  from  some  intruders  who  have  been  on  it  for 
a  good  while,  and  to  collect  a  few  hands  to  plant  a 
crop  of  cotton.  If  she  succeeds,  the  family  will  go  back 
there  to  live.  I  must  tell  you  that  the  widow  does  not 
hesitate  to  receive  this  providential  aid,  for  she  knows, 
as  all  of  us  do  who  are  acquainted  with  the  case,  that 
it  comes  from  a  love  that  was  created  by  a  system 
never  well  understood  at  the  North  while  it  lasted, 
and  that  has  now  passed  away.  Whenever  there  is 
anything  further  that  it  would  interest  you  to  know  I 
shall  not  fail  to  communicate  it.  Believe  me,  madam, 
with  very  great  respect, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"John  Elliot. 
"Mrs.  Isabella  G-ascoigne, 
"  Boston,  Mass." 

Success  attended  all  Dinah's  plans ;  for,  known  only 
to  her,  the  money  needful  to  obtain  the  land  and  restore 
it  to  a  productive  condition  was  supplied  by  Mrs. 
Gascoigne.  Dinah  never  returned  to  Boston.  Her 
young  master,  as  she  now  called  the  son  of  Colonel 
Pringle,  came  in  due  time  to  manage  the  property. 
There  Dinah  spent  her  remaining  years,  in  the  scenes 
where  she  was  born,  tended  by  loving  hearts.     Two  or 

24* 


282  JOHN  CHARAXES. 

three  times  a  year  a  letter  was  written  for  her  to  Mrs. 
Gascoigne.  She  lived  to  a  great  age.  On  the  day  she 
died  she  interrupted  the  clergyman  who  prayed  at 
her  bedside :  "  Yeou  hevn't  praid  for  Missus  Is'bel — 
Missus  Is'bel  Gaskwine, — dat's"  her  name, — pray  fur 
her.  Bress'd  air  de  peure  in  hart,  fur  dey  s'all  see 
God."  And  so  the  old  woman  died,  remembering  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  which  her  mistress  read  to  her 
when  she  was  a  child.  She  lies  buried  on  the  planta- 
tion, and  on  her  grave-stone  is  this  inscription  : 

DINAH 

Born  in  slavery 

Freed  by  a  Citizen  of  Massachusetts 

Purchasing  her  from  her  owners 

She  came  home  after  an  absence  of 

Forty  years  to  help  and  succor 

A  family  who  had  sheltered  her 

Childhood  and  youth 

*'  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for 

they  shall  obtain  mercy" 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

THE   LAST    SCENE   OF   ALL. 

Peace  came  at  last.  The  land  that  had  been  "drenched 
in  fraternal  blood"  found  repose  from  the  further  con- 
flict of  arms.  The  resources  of  the  Southern  Confed- 
eracy reached  an  end  ;  and  as  the  Northern  government 
sent  column  after  column  into  the  field  to  be  cut  down 
until  the  Southern  forces  could  fight  no  more, — and 
still  the  Northern  power  was  not  exhausted, — the  war 
was  at  length  over.  Magnanimity  and  forbearance 
marked  the  conduct  of  the  victors,  so  far  as  the  mili- 
tary authorities  could  settle  the  terms  of  peace.  Worn, 
weary,  and  destitute,  the  brave  men  of  the  South 
wended   their  way  to   their  homes,  to   rebuild   their 


THE  LAST  SCENE   OF  ALL.  283 

shattered  society  and  to  turn  their  swords  into  plough- 
shares. But  long  years  of  civil  contention  had  yet  to 
be  passed  before  it  could  be  certain  that  the  political 
institutions  of  the  country  had  come  out  of  the  con- 
flicts of  civil  war  in  their  substantially  normal  condi- 
tion, so  that  "Liberty  and  Union"  could  be  truly  said 
to  be  "one  and  inseparable."  It  is  not  here  that  an 
account  of  public  affairs  during  the  years  that  imme- 
diately followed  the  war  needs  to  be  given.  It  is  for 
me  to  tell  how  my  friends,  the  persons  of  this  narra- 
tive, like  all  others  in  the  land,  were  affected  directly 
or  indirectly  by  the  public  events.  It  was  not  until 
the  year  1870  that  things  appeared  to  be  so  settled 
that  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  James,  and  Margaret  could  think 
of  going  abroad.  He  had  never  been  able  to  return  to 
the  army  after  his  wound ;  and  w^hile  the  war  lasted 
all  the  public  service  he  could  render  consisted  in  act- 
ing sometimes  as  a  military  adviser  of  the  Governor 
of  Massachusetts.  But  now  his  physicians  recom- 
mended travelling  in  Europe,  and  his  mother  decided 
to  accompany  them.  I  saw  them  embark,  little  think- 
ing that  I  should  never  see  Isabel  Gascoigne  again. 
But  at  the  end  of  two  years  I  received  from  James  the 
following  letter,  and  as  I  read  it  I  thought  of  Long- 
fellow's lines, — 

"  Art  is  long,  and  time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  strong  and  brave, 
Still  like  muffled  drums  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave." 

"Cannes,  July  2,  1872. 
"  Peter  Boylston,  Esq., 
"  Boston  : 
"  My  dear  Sir, — To  you,  my  mother's  oldest  friend, 
who  knew  her  longest,  and  for  whom  she  ever  had  a 
very  warm  regard,  I  have  the  distressing  duty  of  com- 
municating her  death,  which  occurred  here  yesterday, 
after  an  illness  of  only  ten  days.     She  had  written  to 
you  from  time  to  time  since  we  have  been  in  Europe, 
but  I  believe  not  later  than  six  weeks  ago.     We  came 
here  a  fortnight  since,  and  soon  after  our  arrival  she 


284  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

became  ill.  At  first,  we  were  not  alarmed  about  her, 
but,  notwithstanding  the  most  skilful  medical  attend- 
ance and  our  utmost  devotion,  the  disorder  made  such 
progress  that  we  were  obliged  to  give  up  all  hope 
about  five  days  since.  There  was,  however,  but  little 
suffering,  and  her  death  was  most  tranquil  and  serene. 
Her  naturally  strong  constitution  and  usual  good  health 
had  preserved  her  great  beauty,  and  although  she  had 
considerably  passed  the  age  of  sixty,  she  retained  to 
the  last  her  personal  loveliness.  Her  sweet  disposi- 
tion and  rare  intelligence  were  unimpaired  to  the  last 
moment.  She  spoke  of  you  and  Mrs.  Boylston  on  the 
day  before  she  died,  and  bade  me  send  to  both  of  you 
her  most  affectionate  remembrances.  You  are  both 
mentioned  in  her  will,  which  she  executed  before  we  left 
home,  and  which  is  deposited  in  the  probate  office.  It 
was  very  fortunate  that  a  clerg3^man  of  the  Church  of 
England  was  here  and  administered  to  her  the  holy 
communion,  according  to  the  rite  to  which  she  had 
always  been  accustomed.  Margaret  has  been  to  her 
and  to  me,  in  these  last  sad  daj^s  of  my  poor  mother's 
life,  all  that  you  would  have  anticipated,  as  she  has 
been  every  moment  since  our  marriage.  We  are  mak- 
ing arrangements  to  embark  with  the  remains  as  soon 
as  possible.  The  interment  will  be  at  Mount  Auburn 
immediately  after  we  arrive. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  my  mother  wrote  to  you  any 
account  of  our  visit  to  Gascoigne  Manor  while  we 
were  in  England.  Probably  it  was  too  painful ;  and, 
now  that  I  look  back  upon  it,  I  wonder  that  she  had 
the  fortitude  to  go  there.  She  did  it  entirely  on  my 
account,  proposing  it  herself  We  heard  that  my  uncle. 
Lord  Gascoigne,  and  all  his  family  were  in  London,  and 
my  mother  was  glad  to  have  me  see  the  place  without 
meeting  them.  We  stayed  at  a  neighboring  inn,  and 
thence  we  walked  to  the  church-yard  and  visited  my 
father's  grave.  Then  we  went  into  the  church  and 
read  the  inscription  on  the  tablet  erected  to  his-  mem- 
ory.    It  is  in  these  words  : 


THE  LAST  SCENE  OF  ALL.  285 


'In  Memoriam 

LIONEL  GASCOIGNE 

Late  Clerk  in  Her  Majesty's  Foreign  Office 

Third  and  Youngest  son  of 

Marniaduke 

Fourteenth  Earl  Gascoigne 

Born  at  Gascoigne  House 

August  15  1818 

Married  Oct  1  1836  to  Miss  Isabella  Bradshaw 

Of  Boston  U  S 

Drowned  near  the  Isle  of  Wight 

September  16  1839 

In  an  heroic  but  unsuccessful  effort  to  save  the  life 

of  a  fellow-creature 

Daniel  Hodgkins 

A  Boy  belonging  to  the  Crew  of  the  Yacht 

Calypso 

His  sorrowing  companions  of  that  fatal  pleasure  trip  have 
placed  here  this  memorial  tablet  to  perpetuate  the  mem- 
ory of  him  w^hose  manly  virtues  came  through  a  long 
line  of  ancestors  from  one  of  the 

Barons  of  Runnymede 

"Where  were  ye,  nymphs,  when  the  remorseless  deep 
Closed  o'er  the  head  of  your  loved  Lycidas  ? 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep, 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  famous  Druids,  he  ; 
Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high. 
Nor  yet  where  Deva  spreads  her  wizard  stream  : 
Ay  me  !  I  fondly  dream 
Had  ye  been  there,  for  what  could  that  have  done?"  ' 

"While  I  was  copying  this  inscription  my  mother's 
tears  were  faUing  fast,  but  after  we  left  the  church  she 
became  entirely  composed.  As  we  walked  towards  the 
manor-house,  along  the  avenue,  under  the  great  lime- 
trees,  she  leaned  on  my  arm  and  told  the  story  of  my 
father's  death,  which  I  had  never  before  heard.  '  I 
ihink,  dear,'  she  said,  '  that  you  had  an  inheritance  of 
^ome  qualities  which  it  only  needed  Margaret  to  bring 
Dut  from  their  dormant  condition  in  your  nature.  The 
gentlemen  who  put  up  that  tablet  might  have  added 
more  of  Milton's  lines : 


286  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

"  Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 
Nor  in  the  glittering  foil 
Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumor  lies, 
But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove  ; 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 
Of  so  much  fame  in  Heaven  expect  thy  meed."  ' 

"  You,  my  dear  sir,  can  excuse  the  repetition  of  what 
my  dear  mother  meant  to  imply  for  me  in  this  fond  and 
too  partial  thought. 

"When  we  reached  the  manor-house  we  sent  our 
cards  in  to  the  housekeeper.  She  soon  made  her  ap- 
pearance, but  she  was  not  a  person  whom  my  mother 
had  ever  seen,  nor  did  she  know  exactly  who  we  were. 
When  told  that  we  were  connections  of  the  family,  and 
that  we  came  from  America,  she  offered  to  show  us  the 
house.  My  mother  said  that  there  were  only  two 
rooms  that  she  wished  to  see.  We  went  first  to  a 
chamber  and  dressing-room  near  the  head  of  the  great 
staircase,  which  I  concluded  was  the  apartment  that 
my  mother  occupied  with  my  father  at  the  time  of  her 
only  visit  there,  soon  after  their  marriage.  She  turned 
very  pale  when  she  entered  this  room,  but  did  not 
utter  a  word.  Then  she  asked  to  be  taken  to  the  pic- 
ture-gallery. I  supposed,  at  first,  that  she  expected  to 
find  there  a  portrait  of  my  father,  but  this  she  did  not 
seem  to  have  anticipated.  She  walked  directly  to  a 
part  of  the  room  where  the  portrait  of  a  young  lady, 
in  the  kind  of  dress  that  is  seen  in  Yan  Dyck's  pictures, 
hung  in  a  strong  hght.  This  face  she  studied  for  a 
long  time,  and  I  presume  that  it  was  the  portrait  of 
Henrietta  Gascoigne,  whose  story  I  believe  you  know. 
The  only  inquiry  my  mother  made  of  the  housekeeper 
was  whether  there  was  any  portrait  of  '  Lady  Clare.' 
The  answer  was,  '  No,  ma'am.  Lady  Clare  was  never 
painted.     She  died  ten  years  ago.' 

"  We  were  not  long  in  the  house.  As  we  walked  back 
to  the  inn  my  mother  told  me  that  Lady  Clare  was  my 
father's  youngest  sister.  Of  the  other  members  of  the 
family  she  did  not  speak. 

"  You  remember  the  portrait  of  my  mother  that  was 


THE  LAST  SCENE   OF  ALL.  287 

painted  by  Eembrandt  Peel  when  she  was  a  young  lady, 
and  that  has  long  been  in  the  possession  of  her  sister, 
Mrs.  Perkins.  I  wished  to  have  a  portrait  of  her  as 
she  has  been  in  late  years,  and  when  we  were  in  Paris 
last  winter  I  had  one  painted  by  a  capital  artist.  She 
charged  him  at  every  sitting  not  to  flatter  her  and  not 
to  forget  her  age.  He  produced  an  admirable  likeness, 
and  one  that  gives  all  her  matronly  beauty  and  sweet 
intelligence.  But  of  course  the  artist  could  not  do  what 
Nature  had  never  done, — make  her  look  all  the  years 
that  she  had  lived.  .  To  the  day  of  her  death  there  was 
never  a  line  of  gray  in  her  dark  hair  or  a  wrinkle  upon 
her  brow.  It  is  an  unspeakable  comfort  to  me  that  she 
was  willing  to  sit  for  this  picture  and  that  she  was  en- 
tirely well  when  it  was  painted.  After  it  was  finished, 
an  English  gentleman,  who  saw  it  at  the  artist's  studio, 
asked  if  it  was  not  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Gascoigne,  of 
Boston.  He  said  that  he  knew  her  in  London  durino- 
my  father's  life,  and  that  she  had  changed  so  little  that 
he  recollected  the  face  at  once.  This  picture  was  sent 
from  Paris  about  three  weeks  since,  and  it  will  perhaps 
reach  my  agent  before  we  arrive.  I  beg  you  will  have 
it  sent  to  your  house  and  unpacked,  so  that  you  and 
Mrs.  Boylston  can  have  it  before  your  eyes  until  we 
want  it. 

"I  thought  that  you  would  be  interested  to  know 
what  I  have  written,  and  that  I  should  neglect  a  sacred 
duty  if  I  did  not  inform  you  when  we  may  be  expected, 
although  I  have  cabled  to  my  agent  in  Boston  to  have 
everything  needful  in  readiness  when  the  remains  are 
landed.  With  our  kindest  love  to  Mrs.  Boylston  and 
yourself,  believe  me,  as  ever,  dear  sir, 
"  Your  affectionate 

"James  Bradshaw  Gascoigne." 

How  strange  are  the  concatenations  of  our  lives ! 
Here  am  I,  an  old  man  of  seventy-eight,  about  to 
follow  to  their  last  resting-place  the  remains  of  an  early 
friend,  which  I  must  by  my  presence,  at  least,  assist  in 
receiving  at  the  self-same  landing  where  I  met  her  as 
a  blooming  young  widow  more  than  thirty  years  ago, 


288  JOHN  CHARAxES. 

returning  to  her  mother's  house  after  her  brief  married 
life  was  over.  "Well,  my  old  wife  and  I  cannot  long 
survive  her.  We  shall  soon  be  ''  each  in  the  narrow  cell 
forever  laid,"  in  that  beautiful  and  renowned  city  of  the 
dead.  "I  have  lived  my  life,"  and,  although  it  has  not 
been  like  King  Arthur's,  it  has  been  a  pure  and  useful 
one.  I  have  no  fears  about  the  future  for  myself  or  for 
the  dear  companion  of  my  pilgrimage 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Mr.  Boylston's  MS.  here  ends  abruptly,  and  his  liter- 
ary executor  must  close  the  record.  He  did  not  die  so 
soon  as  he  anticipated  when  he  received  news  of  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Gascoigne.  His  death  occurred  in  1878, 
and  his  wife  did  not  long  survive  him.  James  and 
Margaret  remained  in  his  mother's  house  until  they 
had  rendered  the  last  duties  of  friendship  to  those  two 
old  people,  who  never  had  any  children,  and  who  had 
been  the  friends  of  his  mother  for  so  many  years. 
They  then  left  Boston  and  went  to  reside  in  Detroit, 
in  the  house  that  had  belonged  to  Mr.  Charaxes,  which 
came  to  Margaret  by  provisions  in  his  will,  that  con- 
tinued in  her  father,  in  trust  for  her,  the  title  to  the 
property  which  had  stood  in  Mr.  Brewster's  name  ever 
since  Mr.  Charaxes  bought  it.  It  was  for  the  sake  of 
being  near  to  her  father  and  her  aunt  that  Margaret 
chose  to  reside  in  Detroit.  Miss  Brewster  never  knew 
that  Mrs.  Gascoigne  was  the  lady  who  was  engaged  to 
her  brother  in  his  younger  days,  and  he  never  made 
known  to  his  daughter  or  her  husband  that  he  had 
been  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Gascoigne  before  they  met 
at  Saratoga  in  the  summer  of  1859.  Miss  Brewster 
died  at  a  very  advanced  age  in  1879.  After  her  death 
Mr.  Brewster  took  up  his  abode  with  Margaret,  in  the 
house  where  the  library  of  old  Charaxes  and  all  his 
collections  remained  just  as  he  left  them.  Margaret's 
life  was  a  supremely  happy  one.  The  lofty  ideal  of 
patriotism  which  she  formed  in  her  youth  had  found 
its  sufficient  realization  in  her  husband's  capacity  for 
heroic  deeds  and  heroic  suffering.     In  his  love  she  had 


THE  LAST  SCENE   OF  ALL.  289 

the  reward  which  her  nature  needed  for  what  she  had 
done  in  developing  his  character.  Their  union  was 
blessed  by  children,  in  whom  were  blended  the  qualities 
that  came  from  the  English  and  the  American  blood  that 
flowed  united  in  their  veins.  James  was  never  a  strong 
or  an  active  man  after  what  he  had  suffered,  but  with 
great  care  and  prudence  he  enjoyed  a  reasonable  share 
of  health,  and  so  long  as  this  was  his  lot  Margaret  was 
happy.  It  was  at  their  house  in  Detroit  that  the  editor 
made  their  acquaintance,  so  that  he  is  able  to  verify  so 
much  of  these  memoirs  as  relates  to  the  two  youngest 
persons  of  whom  they  give  an  account.  Mr.  Brewster 
died  before  the  editor  knew  them. 

Of  Mr.  Gharaxes's  great  fortune  not  quite  a  third  had 
ever  been  transferred  to  this  country.  This  portion 
came  to  Margaret  by  his  will.  The  residue  was  divided 
between  his  relatives  in  Greece  and  one  of  the  principal 
monasteries  in  Austria.  The  will  was  never  a  subject 
of  litigation.  The  testator  had  taken  every  precaution 
against  such  a  scandal. 

The  publication  of  this  tale  of  the  Civil  War  has 
been  delayed  until  the  year  of  the  imprint  for  reasons 
that  would  not  interest  the  reader. 


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THE  DESERTER  and  FROM  THE  RANKS. 

By  Captain  Charles  King, 
Author  of  "  The  Colonel's  Daughter,"  "  Marion's  Faith,"  etc. 

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"Captain  King  is  one  of  the  best  of  modem  writers  of  military  fiction, 
worthy  to  rank  on  this  side  the  water  with  John  Strange  Winter  on  the  other. 
His  pictures  of  army  life  impress  one  by  their  manifest  sincerity,  their  dramatic 
interest,  and  their  wholesome  and  manly  motives.  These  two  stories  have  a 
tone  and  an  atmosphere  wholly  different  from  the  commonplace  novel  of  the 
day,  and  for  that  reason  alone  they  are  highly  enjoyable." — Boston  Literary 
World. 

"  The  gallant  captain  has  all  a  soldier's  generous  enthusiasm  for  lovely  woman' 
and  the  delights  of  a  cosy,  love-lit  home,  and  his  heroines  are  all  sweet,  whole-; 
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"  Captain  King  surpasses  any  other  writer  of  army  life  that  we  have  yet  had, 
and  his  sketches  of  societj'  life  and  character  at  the  military  stations  in  the  far 
West  are  as  brilliant  as  they  are  entertaining.  The  plots  of  both  these  stories 
are  ingeniously  conceived  and  skilfully  carried  out,  and  they  are  replete  with 
stirring  and  exciting  incidents." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  The  author  has  had  the  good  sense  to  select  a  department  of  fiction  which 
he  is  excellently  fitted  to  describe.  There  is  just  enough  of  wholesome  plot  in 
*  The  Deserter'  and  *  From  the  Ranks'  to  keep  the  reader's  interest  unabated  to 
the  end.  The  tone  of  the  v/ork  is  fresh  and  charming.  Captain  King  has  a 
quick  and  sentient  touch,  and  his  writing  is  that  of  one  whose  belief  in  mankind 
is  untouched  by  bitterness.  One  reads  his  tales  with  the  satisfying  sense  of  a 
cheerful  solution  of  all  difficulties  on  the  final  page.  It  is  a  relief,  indeed,  to 
turn  from  the  dismal  introspection  of  much  of  our  modem  fiction  to  the  fresh 
naturalness  of  such  stories  as  these." — New  York  Critic. 

"  The  author  of  '  The  Colonel's  Daughter'  has  studied  the  intrigues,  jeal- 
ousies, and  romances  of  army  life  on  the  spot,  and  draws  life-like  portraits  of 
favorite  officers  and  men,  of  overbearing  captains'  wives  and  sisters,  and 
describes  the  monotonous  camp-life  and  its  sudden  dangers  truthfully." — JVew 
York  Publishers'  Weekly. 

"  He  tells  his  stories  with  so  much  spirit  that  one's  interest  is  maintained  to 
the  end.  The  character-studies  are  good  and  the  plot  cleverly  developed."— 
New  York  Book-Buyer . 

"  The  characters  are  all  truly  soldierly  men,  of  no  low  rank  in  the  American 
army.  There  is  plenty  of  intrigue  in  the  plot  to  show  that  there  is  more  than 
one  kind  of  an  explosive  in  a  camp.  The  society,  life,  and  amusements  of  this 
certain  class  of  people  are  very  clearly  brought  to  light,  and  if  it  were  not  for 
the  positive  fact  that  they  exist  only  in  fiction,  one  could  easily  imagine  that 
they  were  real  persons,  so  natural  and  real  do  their  actions  seem.  The  reader 
can  gain  several  new  ideas  in  regard  to  the  pleasures  of  those  in  the  army  as 
well  as  an  idea  of  some  of  the  dangers  that  constantly  threaten  the  officers, 
from  Captain  King's  full  description  of  them." — Boston  Herald. 

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PUBLICATIONS    OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 
American  Novels,  No.  2. 

Brtjteton's  Bkvotjt, 

By  John  Habberton,  author  of  "  Helen's  Babies," 

AND 

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"  In  every  way  worthy  of  the  best  of  our  American  story -writers." — Wash- 
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"  It  is  safe  to  say  that  no  two  more  charming  stories  were  ever  bound  in  one 
cover  than  these." — A''ezv  Orleans  Picayune. 

"Two  thoroughly  good  and  entertaining  American  novels.  The  literary 
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"  We  are  glad  to  have  '  Brueton's  Bayou'  in  our  hands  again, — to  recall  its 
charming  picture  of  Southern  life,  with  the  genuine  naturalness  of  that  simple 
household  and  the  subtle  differences  in  the  social  virtues  and  exactions  of  two 
extremes  of  civilization.  Everything  about  the  story  is  charming,  from  the 
sweet  dignity  of  the  impulsive  Velce  and  the  instinctive  cleverness  of  her  old 
darkey  protector,  to  the  gentle  irony  which  occasionally  displays  itself  in  the 
description  of  the  men  of  the  plantation.  In  '  Miss  Defarge'  Mrs.  Burnett  has 
given  us  a  good  deal  of  action  and  that  vigorous  handhng  which  has  become 
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"  Two  more  delightful  stories  than  these  it  were  hard  to  find.  The  reputa- 
tion of  Mr.  Habberton  and  Mrs.  Burnett  are  guarantee  that  there  isn't  a  dull 
line  in  either  of  these  works.  They  will  be  welcomed  heartily,  and  read  again 
and  again." — Nashville  American. 

"  Two  pleasing  stories.  Mrs.  Burnett's  stories  are  always  bright  and  inter- 
esting, and  '  Brueton's  Bayou'  is  readable  from  cover  to  cover." — Baltimore 
American. 

"  '  Brueton's  Bayou'  is  an  excellent  tale,  the  motive  of  which  is  apparently 
to  instil  into  the  haughty  insularity  of  the  New  York  mind  a  realizing  sense  of 
the  intellectual  possibilities  of  the  Southwest.  The  smug  and  self-satisfied 
young  New  York  business-man,  who  is  detained  by  the  lameness  of  his  horse 
at  Brueton's  Bayou,  and  there  presently  meets  his  fate  in  the  form  of  a  brilliant 
and  beautiful  girl  of  the  region,  has  the  nonsense  taken  out  of  him  very 
thoroughly  by  his  Southern  experiences.  '  Miss  Defarge'  is  a  strong  study  of  a 
very  resolute  and  self-centred  young  woman,  who  accomplishes  many  things 
by  sheer  force  of  will.  But  the  most  interesting  and  charming  figure  in  it  is 
that  of  Elizabeth  Dysart,  the  blonde  beauty,  a  kmd  of  modernized  Dudu, — 
'  large  and  languishing  and  lazy,' — but  of  a  sweetness  of  temper  and  general 
lovableness  not  to  be  surpassed." — New  York  Tribune. 


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PUBLICATIONS   OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY, 


American  Novels,  No.  3. 


SINFIRE, 

By  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE,  author  of  "Archibald  Malmaison,"  etc. 

AND 

DOUGLAS  DUANE, 

By  EDGAR  FAWCETT,  author  of  "A  Gentleman  of  Leisure,"  etc. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE   VOLUME. 


Square  i2mo.    Extra  cloth,  $i.oo.    Paper,  50  cents. 


«'  The  style  is  unique,  the  incident  thrilling,  and  a  weird  and 
fantastic  thread  runs  through  both  the  stories." — Norristown 
Herald. 

"  They  are  tales  of  the  most  marvellous  nature,  but  with  enough 
of  the  possible,  every-day  life  interwoven  so  skilfully  that  the  in- 
terest is  kept  up  throughout." — Portland  Transcript. 

"  Both  are  curious,  picturesque  stories,  well  worked  out,  and 
among  the  author's  most  popular  efforts." — New  York  Graphic, 

"  Two  novels  that  have  been  well  received  and  that  are  very 
warmly  praised." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  These  are  novels  by  two  of  the  most  popular  writers  of  the 
day.  Each  is  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  deep  interest  peculiar 
to  its  author." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  Both  of  the  stories  are  well  worth  perusal." — Kansas  City 
Times.  

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post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 

715  and  717  Market  Street, 

Philadelphia,  Pa. 


ENTERTAINING    STORIES, 

By  FRANCES  COURTENAY  BAYLOR. 


ON    BOTH   SIDES. 

Containing  "  The  Perfect  Treasure"  and  "  On  This  Side,"  the  whole  forming  a  complete  story. 


12mo.    Extra  Cloth.    $1.25. 


"  No  such  faithful,  candid,  kindly,  brilliant,  and  incisive  presentation 
of  English  and  American  types  has  before  been  achieved.  The  wit  of 
the  story  is  considerable.  It  is  written  brilliantly,  yet  not  flimsily.  It  is 
the  best  international  novel  that  either  side  has  hitherto  produced.  It  is 
written  by  an  American  woman  w^ho  really  knows  both  countries,  and 
who  has  shown  that  she  possesses  powers  which  ought  to  put  her  iu  the 
front  rank  of  fiction." — New  York  Tribune. 


BEHIND  THE   BLUE   RIDGE 

A    HOMELY    NARRATIVE. 


12nio.    Extra  Cloth.    $1.25. 


"Intensely  dramatic  in  construction,  rich  in  color,  picturesque  in  de- 
scription, and  artistic  in  its  setting." — Philadelphia  Hecord. 

"It  is  lightened  through  and  through  by  humor  as  subtle  and  spon- 
taneous as  any  that  ever  brightened  the  dark  pages  of  life  histor}^  and  is 
warmed  by  that  keen  sympathy  and  love  for  human  nature  which  trans- 
figures and  ennobles  everything  it  touches."— CAicaflfo  Tribune. 


A  SHOCKING   EXAMPLE, 

AND    OTHER    SKETCHES. 


12mo.    Extra  Cloth.    $1.25. 


No  stories  of  recent  date  are  so  tender  and  sympathetic;  so  rich  in 
color;  so  bubbling  over  with  humor,  and  so  full  of  delicate  etchings  of 
pleasant  life  as  those  told  by  Miss  Baylor.  The  present  book  embraces 
no  less  than  fifteen  complete  sketches  which  are  characterized  by  the 
same  brilliancy  of  style  that  has  won  for  the  author's  previous  works  the 
highest  encomiums  of  the  press  and  her  large  number  of  readers. 


***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  the  Publishers,  post- 
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PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

Picked  Up  in  the  Streets. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN   OF  H.  SCHOBERT. 

Translated   by   Mrs.   A.   I..  IJVISXEIi. 


12mo.      Extra  Cloth.      $1.25. 


•*  An  entertaining,  romantic  story,  with  a  healthy  moral.  The  pathos 
is  genuine,  and  those  who  figure  in  it  are  unexaggerated  types  of 
human  nature.  It  may  be  read  with  profit  and  pleasure  by  old  and 
young." — Boston  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  romance  of  more  than  usual  interest.  Like  so  many 
novels  of  the  epoch,  it  is  Russian  in  motive,  but  the  scenes  are  laid 
in  France  and  Germany.  The  characters  in  the  story  are  so  high- 
spirited  and  intensely  aristocratic  in  their  way  that  loves  and  hates, 
plots  and  counterplots,  and,  above  all,  the  duel,  will  be  deliciously 
pleasing  to  simple  republicans.  But  the  story  has  even  a  greater 
merit  than  its  interest — it  is  not  too  long." — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  You  read  on ;  things  become  interesting ;  the  *  plot  thickens , 
new  elements  are  drawn  into  it;  new  contingencies — new  impossi- 
bilities— emerge,  to  be  resolved  after  much  bitterness  into  sweet 
harmonies  and  things  altogether  possible.  Two  or  three  strong 
characters  stand  aloof  and  aloft,  and  show  that  Herr  Schobert 
has  a  sharp  power  of  analysis  and  characterization,  and  that  his  Ger- 
mans and  Russians  are  not  walking  and  talking  puppets.  The  court 
life  at  a  petty  German  principality  is  admirably  depicted ;  not  less  so 
the  courtiers  and  princelings,  and  the  strong,  luminous  figure  of  the 
heroine.  Mrs.  Wister  translates  with  delightful  ease,  and  brings  all 
these  things  before  us  as  if  she  were  composing  originally,  and  not 
translating." — N.  V.  Critic. 

"  As  a  romancer  H.  Schobert  expresses  himself  with  delicacy. 
His  ideas  of  life  are  not  overwrought,  although  at  times  they  assume 
a  highly  sensational  character.  The  interest  of  his  story  centres  in 
his  picturesque  and  realistic  views  of  society  life  at  the  German 
court,  where  the  prominent  scenes  are  mostly  laid.  He  has  the 
power  to  shift  from  one  scene  to  another  without  disturbing  the  har- 
mony of  the  whole,  and,  with  Mrs.  Wister  as  a  translator,  his  work 
cannot  fail  to  find  favor." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Like  all  of  Mrs.  Wister's  translations,  it  is  spirited  and  enter- 
taining."—  Toledo  Blade. 

*,f*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on  re* 
ceipt  of  the  price  by  the  publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS   OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

THE 

OWL'S  NEST. 

BY  E.  MARLITT. 

TRANSLATED  BY  MRS.  A.  L.  WISTER. 


i2mo.     Extra  cloth,  $1.25. 


"The  best  story  which  Mrs.  Wister  has  translated  for  some 
years.  It  has  all  the  sentimental  qualities  dear  to  the  German 
heart  and  much  of  the  esprit  demanded  by  American  taste.  The 
moral  is  excellent,  inculcating  the  precept  that  girls  must  seem  as 
well  as  be  irreproachable  in  behavior." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"  The  book  is  as  sweet  and  wholesome  as  its  predecessors.  .  .  . 
The  descriptions  of  scenery  are  alone  enough  to  reward  one  for 
reading  the  book.  They  are  so  vivid  that  one  can  almost  smell 
the  pines  and  feel  the  blowing  wind," — Boston  Globe. 

"  This  story  has  the  minute  delicacy  and  graphic  simplicity  of 
all  of  Marlitt's  stories,  and  it  is  gracefully  translated." — New  York 
Independent. 

"  These  translations  are  gaining  a  place  among  the  standard 
literature  of  the  day.  Pure  in  thought,  not  extravagant  in  tone, 
they  portray  human  nature  as  we  each  day  see  it  around  us.  The 
pictures  of  German  life,  whether  among  peasantry  or  those  of  the 
high  degree,  are  both  pleasing  and  instructive,  and  the  moral  such 
as  will  be  an  influence  for  good." — Norristown  Herald. 

"  It  has  the  same  elements  of  strength  and  interest,  the  same 
effective  blending  of  the  subjects  of  romance  with  the  methods  of 
realism,  that  we  find  in  all  the  novels  of  this  author  coming  through 
the  hands  of  this  translator." — Ajnerican  Bookseller. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent, 
post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price. 


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Philadelphia,  Pa. 


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THE  COLONEL'S  DAUaHTER; 

OR, 

WIWIVIIVG  HIS  SPURS. 

12mo.    Extra  Cloth.    81.25. 

"The  sketches  of  life  in  a  cavalry  command  on  the  frontier  are  exceedingfj 
vivid  and  interesting;  and  the  element  of  adventure  is  furnished  in  the  graphic 
and  spirited  accounts  of  affairs  with  the  hostile  Apaches,  Captain  King  is  tobf 
thanked  for  an  entertaining  contribution  to  the  slender  stock  of  American  mili- 
tary novels — a  contribution  so  good  that  we  hope  that  he  will  give  us  another.'" 
• — N.  V.  Tribune. 

"  The  fertility  of  this  field  of  garrison  and  reservation  life  has  already  at 
tracted  the  attention  of  several  writers.  We  took  up  the  work  of  Captain  King 
with  the  impression  thatit  might  be  like  some  of  these,  an  ephemeral  production; 
we  found  it  instead  a  charming  work,  worthy  of  achieving  a  permanent  place  in 
literature.  We  cordially  congratulate  Captain  King  on  his  accomplished  suc- 
cess, for  such  unquestionably  it  \%."—Aymy  and  Navy  Journal,  N.  Y. 

"  There  have  been  few  American  novels  published  of  late  years  so  thoroughly 
readable  as  '  The  Colonel's  Daughter,'  which,  if  it  be  Captain  King's  first  essay 
in  fiction,  is  assuredly  a  most  encouraging  production." — Literary  World. 

"  The  volume  is  a  remarkable  work  of  fiction,  and  will  be  found  entertaining 
and  well  worthy  a  careful  reading." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"Not  for  many  a  season  has  there  appeared  before  the  public  a  novel  so 
thoroughly  captivating  as  '  The  Colonel's  Daughter.'  Its  fresh  flavor  cannot  fail 
to  please  the  veriest  evnuye,  while  its  charming  style  would  disarm  the  most 
fastidious  critic.  With  that  delicacy  of  touch  peculiar  to  his  workmanship,  he 
draws  now  upon  pathos,  now  upon  humor,  but  never  strains  either  quality  to  its 
utmost  capacity,  which  distinctly  proves  that  Captain  King  is  a  writer  of  signal 
ability,  whose  novel  of  'The  Colonel's  Daughter'  we  hope  is  but  the  prelude, 
to  many  others." — Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

"A  departure  into  a  new  field  in  novel  writing  ought  always  to  be  wel- 
comed. '  The  Colonel's  Daughter'  is,  strictly  speaking,  the  first  American  mil- 
itary novel.  It  is  a  good  one,  and  Captain  King  ought  to  follow  up  the  complete 
success  he  has  made  with  other  stories  of  army  life  on  the  American  frontier. 
The  style  of  the  author  is  unaffected,  pure  in  tone,  and  elevating  in  moral 
eflfect." — Wisconsin  State  Journal . 

Captain  King  has  in  this  novel  prepared  for  us  a  clear  and  interesting  story 
of  army  incidents  in  the  West.  He  is  aufaii  in  the  art  which  made  Sir  Walter 
Scott  a  companion  for  old  and  young— the  art  which  brings  to  the  mind  of  the 
reader  that  sentient  power  which  places  us  directly  into  communion  with  the 
imaginary  characters  filling  their  parts  in  a  book.  The  military  incidents  are 
interwoven  into  the  inspiring  love  episode  that  to  the  pages  of  this  work  add  an^ 
imation." — Times- Democrat,  New  Orleans. 

'"  The  Colonel's  Daughter;  or,  Winning  His  Spurs,'  a  story  of  military  life 
at  an  Arizona  post,  written  by  Captain  Charles  King,  U.S.A.,  and  published  by 
J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  Philadelphia,  may  rightfully  claim  to  be  a  good  novel. 
Its  characters  are  strong  and  clear-cut;  its  plot  original  and  well  sustained,  and 
the  pictures  of  military  life  on  the  frontier,  of  Apache  character,  and  of  the 
physical  features  of  Arizona  Territory  are  realistic  and  fascinating." — San 
Francisco  Bulletin. 

"The  outcome  of  the  novel  is  just  what  every  reader  would  wish.  It  is  a 
splendid  story,  full  of  life  and  enjoyment,  and  will  doubtless  prove  a  great 
favorite." — Iowa  State  Register,  Des  Moines. 

For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers. 

Published  by  J    B   LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Philadelphia,  Ps 


PUBLICATIONS   OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 
"A  BRILLIANT  PICTURE   OF  GARRISON  LIFE." 

MARION'S  FAITH. 

By  Captain  CHARLES  KLNG,   U.S.A., 

Author  of  "  The  Colonel's  Daughter," 
"  Kitty's  Conquest,"  etc. 

tsmo.      Extra  cloth  -___._  $1.25 

"  Captain  King  has  done  what  the  many  admirers  of  his  charming 
first  story, '  The  Colonel's  Daughter,'  hoped  he  would  do, — he  has  written 
another  novel  of  American  army  life.  The  present  is  in  some  sort  a 
continuation  of  the  former,  many  of  the  characters  of  the  first  story  re- 
appearing in  the  pages  of  this  volume.  The  scenes  of  the  story  are  laid 
in  the  frontier  country  of  the  West,  and  fights  with  the  Cheyenne  Indians 
afford  sufficiently  stirring  incidents.  The  same  bright,  sparkling  style 
and  easy  manner  which  rendered  '  The  Colonel's  Daughter'  and  '  Kitty's 
Conquest'  so  popular  and  so  delightful,  characterize  the  present  volume. 
It  is  replete  with  spirited,  interesting,  humorous,  and  pathetic  pictures  of 
soldier  life  on  the  frontier,  and  will  be  received  with  a  warm  welcome, 
not  only  by  the  large  circle  of  readers  of  the  author's  previous  works, 
but  by  all  who  delight  in  an  excellent  story  charmingly  told." — Chicago 
Evening  yournal. 

"  The  author  of  this  novel  is  a  gallant  soldier,  now  on  the  retired  list 
by  reason  of  wounds  received  in  the  line  of  duty.  The  favor  with  which 
his  books  have  been  received  proves  that  he  can  write  as  well  as  fight. 
'  Marion's  Faith'  is  a  very  pleasing  story,  with  a  strong  flavor  of  love  and 
shoulder-straps,  and  military  life,  and  cannot  but  charm  the  reader." — 
National  Tribune,  Washington,  D.  C. 

"  Captain  King  has  caught  the  true  spirit  of  the  American  novel,  for 
he  has  endowed  his  work  fully  and  freely  with  the  dash,  vigor,  breeziness, 
bravery,  tenderness,  and  truth  which  are  recognized  throughout  the 
»vorld  as  our  national  characteristics.  Moreover,  he  is  letting  in  a  flood 
of  light  upon  the  hidden  details  of  army  life  in  our  frontier  garrisons  and 
amid  the  hills  of  the  Indian  country.  He  is  giving  the  public  a  bit  of 
insight  into  the  career  of  a  United  States  soldier,  and  abundantly  de- 
monstrating that  the  Custers  and  Mileses  and  Crooks  of  to-day  are  not 
mere  hired  men,  but  soldiers  as  patriotic,  unselfish,  and  daring  as  any 
of  those  who  went  down  with  the  guns  in  the  great  civil  strife.  Captain 
King's  narrative  work  is  singularly  fascinating." — St.  Louis  Republican. 

"  As  descriptions  of  life  at  an  army  post,  and  of  the  vicissitudes,  trials, 
and  heroisms  of  army  life  on  the  plains,  in  what  are  called  '  times  of 
peace,'  the  two  novels  of  Captain  King  are  worthy  of  a  high  and  per- 
manent place  in  American  literature.  They  will  hereafter  take  rank  with 
Cooper's  novels  as  distinctively  American  works  of  fiction." — Army  and 
Nav;»  Register,  Washington,  D,  C. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 


KITTY'S    CONQUEST. 

By  CAPT.  CHARI.es  KING,  U.S.A., 

Author  of  "The  Colonel's  Daughter,"  "  Marlon's  Faith,"  eta 

16mo.    Extra  Cloth.    $1.00. 


••  A  highly  entertaining  love  story,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  In  the  Soutk 
•«ven  years  after  the  •wzx."—New  York  Herald. 

"  Capt.  King  has  given  us  another  delightful  story  of  American  life.  Tht 
reputation  of  the  author  will  by  no  means  suffer  through  his  second  venture. 
We  can  heartily  commend  the  story  to  all  lovers  of  the  American  novel."— 
Washington  Capital. 

"  Will  take  rank  with  its  gifted  author's  vivid  romance,  '  The  Colonel's 
Daughter,'  and  should  become  as  popular.  Capt.  King  writes  fluently  and 
lelicitously,  and  in  the  novel  under  review  there  is  not  a  tiresome  page.  Everyj 
thing  is  graphic,  telling,  and  interesting.  The  plot  is  of  particular  excellence." 
—Philadelphia  Eveni?ig  Call. 

"  '  Kitty's  Conquest,'  a  charming  little  story  of  love  and  adventure,  by 
Charles  King,  U.S.A.  The  plot  is  laid  in  the  South  during  the  reconstruction 
period  following  the  late  war.  The  book  is  written  in  a  most  attractive  style, 
and  abounds  in  bright  passages.  The  characters  are  drawn  in  a  very  pleasing 
manner,  and  the  plot  is  handled  very  successfully  throughout.  It  is  altogether 
a  pleasing  addition  to  the  library  of  modem  fiction," — Boston  Post. 

"  A  bright,  original,  captivating  story.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  South  some 
twelve  years  ago.  It  is  full  of  life  from  the  word  *  go  I'  and  maintains  its  inter- 
est uninterruptedly  to  the  end.  The  varying  fortunes  through  which  the  heiv* 
pursues  his  '  military  love-making'  are  graphically  depicted,  and  a  spice  of  dan- 
gerous adventure  makes  the  story  all  the  more  readable." — New  York  School 
journal. 

"A  bright  and  vivaciously-told  story,  whose  incidents,  largely  founded  upon 
fact,  occurred  some  twelve  years  ago.  The  scene,  opening  in  Alabama,  is  soon 
transferred  to  New  Orleans,  where  the  interest  mainly  centres,  revolving  round 
the  troublous  days  when  Kellogg  and  McEnery  were  de  facto  and  de  jnrt 
claimants  of  supreme  power  in  Louisiana,  when  the  air  was  filled  with  notes  of 
warlike  preparation  and  the  tread  of  armed  men.  Though  the  heroes  are,  foi 
the  most  part.  United  States  officers,  there  is  yet  nothing  but  kindly  courtesj 
jnd  generous  good-will  in  the  tone  of  the  story,  and  its  delineations  of  Southert 
tharacter  and  life,  of  Southern  scenes,  and  the  circumstances  and  ccnditions  <A 
the  time.  The  author  is  Charles  King,  himself  a  United  States  soldier,  whos» 
Itory  of  '  The  Colonel's  Daughter'  has  been  well  received."— iVi?tt>  Orlean. 
timts-Democrat. 

*,*  For  sale  by  all  Bocksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  posUge  prepaid.  « 
(9ceipt  of  the  price,  by 

J    B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Pabliskers, 

716  and  717  Market  Street.  Philadelphia. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 

309 

C.2 


